The Pilgrim's Path
by Erica North
Summary: As Lady Luck lures her further into the Shadows, Ginna cannot resist the power and potential, nor the promise that with Nocturnal on her side everything she's ever wanted is just a turn of the Skeleton Key away… even the vengeance she so greatly desires. The Pilgrim's Path is the sequel to To Catch a Thief.
1. Chapter 1

Tugging at the strings of the pouch, the jewels inside rolled together with the movement. A beautiful sound, stone on precious stone as Ginna tilted the bag and watched them spill out in front of her crossed legs onto the green comforter that covered the bed. Two rubies, three flawless emeralds, countless sapphires and amethysts and one flawless diamond—all of them had come from Mercer Frey's pockets at Irkngthand and there was another pouch of jewels in the bedside table, spoils from Riftweald Manor that she'd split with Rune.

Everything Mercer had left behind was now in her possession. His house, his gold, his plans, his Guild. Brynjolf was having trouble wrapping his head around it whenever they talked about it, but Mercer Frey had made her a very rich woman.

_Coin comes and goes, Ginna_. _Until we start securing more clients, it's best if we hold onto as much of it as possible._

She scooped up the puddle of jewels and let them roll through her fingers, watching them drop and bounce back onto the mattress when they fell. Tonilia's reserves didn't hold enough coin to compensate for all the loot Ginna had in her possession, but Delvin had bought the left Eye of the Falmer for four thousand gold Septims and the right would likely sell for almost double that if she could find the right buyer.

Glancing up at the mantle above the hearth where the right eye was currently on display, it shimmered in the firelight like a beacon of things to come. Good things. Better things than she'd ever known in Cyrodiil. And they were only going to continue to get better after she returned the Skeleton Key to the Twilight Sepulcher. Just retrieving it from Mercer had seemingly returned the shadow of Noturnal's favor to the Guild, with Vex and Delvin juggling more jobs than the Guild could handle and Brynjolf reorganizing the mess of books, paperwork and plans Mercer had left behind.

Things were looking up, she thought, scooping up the jewels again and delighting in the way they tumbled through her open fingers. She dropped them back into the velvet bag and opened the drawer beside the bed to lower them in beside the others, and then she hopped up from the bed to walk into the kitchen and pour herself a snifter of brandy.

It was getting late and Brynjolf still hadn't returned home from the Cistern. She'd probably be asleep long before he stumbled through the back door so exhausted he wouldn't even take off his armor before falling into bed with her. They'd only been married a month, and she couldn't even count on both hands anymore the number of times she'd gone to bed alone.

He was busy. He had important things to do. She understood that everything he did was for the good of the Guild, but she was starting to take it personally every time she crawled into bed alone and curled up to his empty pillow. She had her own important things to do, things she should have set into motion weeks ago, but she could barely stomach the thought of traveling to the Twilight Sepulcher alone to carry out the task of returning the Skeleton Key. A task appointed her by fellow Nightingale, Karliah, who was also too busy to see it done.

Just thinking about the Key made her feel anxious, and she glanced toward the satchel hanging on the back of the chair in the bedroom. She didn't like to touch it; well, that wasn't entirely true. She loved the way it felt in her hand, that pulsing potential singing to her soul—a song of wealth and wonder murmuring in her soul. _Discover me_, whispered the Key. _Use me…_

Her attention snapped away from the carrier bag, toward the fire again. They'd agreed not to use the Key. She'd promised to return it, and yet it was still in her possession. She didn't know what she was waiting for. Well, she did, but her excuse for not returning it the minute she came back from Irkngthand was rather pathetic.

She didn't want to go alone. Karliah told her the Pilgrim's Path would be hard to walk, that even she didn't know what to expect once Ginna set foot on the path. It wasn't a path designed for the Nightingales to walk, but for those who wished to serve Nocturnal in other ways… darker ways, Ginna assumed.

"Rune will accompany you," Brynjolf insisted when she'd tried to appeal to him again to accompany her; after all, it was his duty just as much as it was hers.

They'd taken the oath together, all three of them had sworn it, Brynjolf, Karliah and Ginna, the last of the Nightingales. All three of them should have returned the Skeleton Key together as well, but Brynjolf was busy restoring the Guild. Karliah too ashamed of herself to face Nocturnal again so soon. The responsibility fell to Ginna, and she'd gratefully accepted, but walking the Pilgrim's Path alone… it didn't sound like something she'd return from.

Rune had left for Solitude shortly after they returned from facing Mercer. Word from his father's nursemaid explained that the old fisherman's days were numbered, and though the man hadn't brought him into the world, he was the only father Rune had ever known. He'd left within the hour, after receiving that missive from the Courier, and had only sent one letter since he'd been gone. He didn't know how many days the man had left, but he wouldn't leave him in his final hours.

He was a good son. A better son than Ginna was a daughter.

She'd had too much idle time to think about Cyrodiil, about her traitor Guild-Brother, Brutus and the hard truth she'd been hiding from since their Guild-Father died. Brutus had poisoned Severus, slow poison that had drawn out his suffering for more than a year before finally claiming his life. He'd framed her for the murder more than a year after Severus died, setting her up to take a fall in Solitude before blackballing her from the Cyrodiil Guild and sending assassins to punish her and hide his crime.

She still felt stupid for not having seen it until it was too late, and sometimes when the Skeleton Key sang that sweet song of temptation to her, she imagined drawing from its power to avenge herself and her beloved mentor and father.

But no… she looked toward the bag again and tried to deny the desire for perfect vengeance. She'd promised her fellow Nightingales, sworn an oath to Nocturnal, and while she may have been a thief and a liar, as Mercer Frey pointed out before she'd killed him, she still had honor.

Maybe she shouldn't wait for Rune to come back. He'd told her not to, though she could see in his soft hazel eyes that he hoped she would. She'd told him she would wait as long as she could, but it had already been a month and the call of the Skeleton Key was getting harder and harder to resist. Even Brynjolf could hear it, could be seen occasionally glancing toward the satchel hanging on the back of the chair beside the bed with untold longing. And then he'd shake it off and turn to her, reminding her, "The Key needs to be returned, Ginna. Before one of us uses it and starts that whole blasted cycle all over again."

"Aye," she agreed, but the Key still hung there.

Tipping back the last sip of brandy from her cup, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and lowered the cup to the table. She was tired, and though she longed to wait for her husband, to curl up in his arms and dream of their future with him in the dark, she couldn't wait up for him anymore. It was well past one o'clock, and she planned to rise early in the morning to map out the route to the Twilight Sepulcher.

With no word from Rune, she'd have to go it alone. Rune was the only one in the Guild besides Brynjolf and Karliah she trusted. She considered hiring Marcurio to at least travel with and protect her from dragons. He didn't have to know where she was going or what she planned to do when she got there. Marcurio knew when to keep his nose out of her business, but Brynjolf wouldn't like that one bit.

He'd backed off on the mage, even tersely thanked him for accompanying her on her journey to Markath and back, but he'd made it clear enough that he didn't like Marcurio. Toleration of his company when she called on him was pushing a boundary with Brynjolf's fiery temper, and telling him she wanted Marcurio to travel with her was another matter altogether. She wasn't sure if he was jealous, or angry with her for spending her gold on a mercenary when she had a whole Guild full of capable brothers and sisters more than willing to watch her back.

On the other hand, seeing as how he refused to set business aside long enough to accompany her, he'd just have to deal. She almost laughed at herself then. Imagining herself telling Brynjolf to deal with something he didn't like never went over well; she'd learned as much within their first week together after he'd bailed her out of Solitude's prison.

Regardless, she wasn't traveling halfway across Skyrim alone and with Rune gone, that left Marcurio. She'd call upon him in the morning and go from there, she decided, peeling away her Guild armor and slipping into a loose cotton sleeping gown. She drew back the comforter and crawled into bed alone. Curling up on her side, she drew up her knees and nestled her head deeper into the pillow, allowing the warmth and the low crackle from the hearth to lull her into relaxation. Every breath carried her further away, until she felt herself floating upon a sea of shadows, their soft waves lifting her up, drawing her back down into the spongy depths, whispering softly as black birds circled overhead, occasionally swooping down to glide just across her line of sight.

"Ginna," the birds whispered her name, gathering in flocks to swarm overhead, their chittering chorus of voices drawing her up, lifting her away from that comfortable place where she rested. "Ginna."

She tossed upon the waves, rolling and swimming further from the shore. There were tiny bodies waiting for her there, and when she squinted her eyes in the darkness, she could just barely make them out. Nightingales… Brynjolf… Karliah. Behind them stood Rune and Delvin, Vex and Vipir, Sapphire, Cynric, Thrynn and Ninruin. Her family, her Guild.

Overhead, Masser and Secunda were both in new stage, their shadows like two empty holes in the sky with edges of soft purple light glowing around them. On her back in the water, she watched that purple light gather, as if drawing power from the moons' shadows to materialize.

"Ginna," the voice that spoke her name was not the birds, but a single powerful voice—feminine, strong and commanding. "You cling to the notion of power my Key will bring and yet you do not use it to your advantage, no matter how loudly it calls to you. This intrigues me."

Ginna felt her legs drop from under her, the water giving way until she fell freely, arms flailing like broken wings as she tried to right herself. Glancing down beneath her feet, she could see the ground rushing toward her, but when she landed it was like a cat, steady and on her feet, her curious gaze taking in her surroundings. She recognized the place she'd come to. It was Nightingale Hall, where she and Bryn had taken the oath with Karliah.

She was standing on the stone where Karliah transacted their oath, and pooling in the central circle was that brilliant blue and purple ball of light that had revealed herself to be Nocturnal.

"This is just a dream," Ginna announced, quite proud of herself for working that out. Even still, she felt the need to prostrate herself before her benefactor, and knelt on one knee, lowering her head with respect.

"Perhaps," the steady voice agreed. "Or perhaps it is a summons from your Empress of Shadows, Ginna of Cyrodiil." The laughter that followed was thick, heavy and yet perfectly beautiful and dark as shadows. "You have yet to return my Key to the Twilight Sepulcher, as you promised your fellow Nightingales you would, but you have not used it to your gain. I wish to know why."

"I do not wish to walk the Pilgrim's Path alone, my lady. The temptation to use the Key is almost more than I can bear and…"

"To don my sigil and walk in shadows is to walk alone," Nocturnal reminded her, "both in life and in death."

"Be that as it may, Skyrim is filled with peril and though I am no mere child wielding a blade, I am not a warrior either."

"You shame yourself," the Dark Lady tsked, and were she little more than a ball of light, Ginna would imagine she was shaking her Daedric head in disappointment. "You stood valiantly against Mercer Frey, my champion of the Shadows."

"Mercer had it coming," she sneered, even her dream shoulder aching almost arthritically where he'd plunged his blade into it.

"Indeed, he did," Nocturnal agreed. "The Pilgrim's Path cannot be walked in the company of others, be you warrior, mage or thief. It can only be traveled alone, a test of your absolute devotion to me, which I am beginning to doubt."

"I am devoted to you, my lady." Even as a child, she'd revered Nocturnal, always treading within the shadows looking for her guidance, never forgetting to ask for her blessing before undertaking a big job. Severus had taught her as much, but Nocturnal had never answered, choosing to act in silence and play her servants like puppets to her whim. Ginna had taken the Oath, and even then she hadn't made their pact personal. Until now…

"Were you truly devoted to serving me, you would do as you are told."

Lifting her head to look upon her, the shadows flickering through the orb burned her eyes like sunlight and she turned away to shield her gaze. "I will leave at once to carry out the task, if it please your grace."

"While I've no doubt that you would do this thing, and my disappointment in your hesitation knows no bounds, it is not the Pilgrim's Path I command you to walk at this time."

Ginna looked up again, ignoring the harsh glow and how it affected her eyes. She could almost make out a face within that swirling ball of shadow and darkness, a beautiful face with intriguing eyes and broad, wicked smile. "Whatever you ask of me, I will do."

"Vengeance intrigues me," she went on, as though her supplicant hadn't spoken at all. "Mercer craved to teach his pious master, Gallus a lesson. Karliah sought my blessing to avenge her lover's murder. You reek of vengeance as well, though you do not ask to employ my aid in satiating your desire. Why?"

"Are not secret plots of murder and deceit the governance of Boethiah?"

"You've done your homework," she mused. "But plotting and shadow go hand in hand, do they not?"

"Yes, my lady, but I am a thief, not an assassin."

"I grow weary of you telling me all the things you are not," she almost seemed to yawn. "You say you are no warrior, and yet you wield a blade when need be. You say you're no assassin, and yet the blade you wield glistens with the blood of those who stood in your way. Since you seem to have no concept of your own identity, I will tell you who you are. You are my agent, Ginna of Cyrodiil, and you will carry out my will."

"What would you ask of me, my lady?"

"Carry out my sentence," she said rather simply, "on the fool you once called brother, for his treachery runs much deeper than murder and deceit. Brutus Arenicci plots, even now, to steal my cowl from the Evergloam so that he might rise to power undetected and unremembered, but in order to do that he must also possess the Skeleton Key."

"I'd heard your cowl was destroyed almost an Age ago."

"Of course you did." She laughed again, cold, calculating and clearly amused, but it quickly subsided and only silence remained for so long Ginna felt like her dream had carried her away into the darkness again. "The Key will not be safe in the Twilight Sepulcher, not so long as it will open the path to my realm and allow that miserable wretch access to that which he desires."

"So… you don't want me to return the Skeleton Key then?"

"No, I want you to use it, in my name and with my blessing." She allowed Ginna to stew on that for a moment and then added, "Restore your precious Guild, discover your potential and embrace who you truly are: a shadow child, a Nightingale. Great power awaits you. Embrace it, my daughter."

"After everything we went through to get the Keys back from Mercer…"

"You dare question me?"

Ginna had had nightmares before, strange dreams that left her feeling as dark upon waking as she'd felt in the dream, but this was no nightmare. Nevertheless, it felt too real to discount the nervous clench of fear that gripped her belly. "No, my lady."

"You will use the Key and when the time comes, I will grant you the strength you need to stand against your own brother, who dares to bite my hand, the very hand that has fed him all his life."

"I will do as you wish, Lady Nocturnal."

"Good," she said softly. "Now go forth and carry out my orders."

A/N: The Pilgrim's Path is the sequel to To Catch a Thief and moves side by side with the story A Kiss, Sweet Mother, but contains different characters (Marcurio and a new OC,) through another adventure. Occasionally the characters in these stories will cross paths and the events within each story influence events from the other story at times. I hope if you enjoyed To Catch a Thief, you will check out these two new stories that take place within the Skyrim Underground.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of the closing door must have woken her, or perhaps his tired attempt at quiet footsteps as he crept across the dining room had done the trick. Try as he might to get quietly past her, stealth was her agent and he'd probably have been better off stomping through the house rather than trying to sneak in.

Ginna sat upright with a jolt, as if Nocturnal had shoved her from dream into the waking world.

He'd come in the front door, another attempt to keep from waking her, but she'd been expecting him to come through the backdoor and the difference in the two sounds had disturbed her. She couldn't even guess what the hour was, but her body told her it was late, the receding shadows near the edge of the window correcting her immediately; it was early. Nearly dawn.

"Bryn?"

"Aye," he confessed, starting toward the bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed, lowering a hand to cup her cheek, twitching fingers whispering through the loose strands of blond hair that framed her face before tucking them behind her ear. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"What time is it?"

"Too late," he shook his head and sighed. "Go back to sleep, lass."

"Are you coming to bed?"

"Aye." He started to unbuckle his armor, rising to strip down to his smallclothes. He tossed the leather into the chair at the foot of the bed and crawled in beside her, blowing out the tallow candles on the table before lying down. "Are you cross with me?" he asked, tucking his arm beneath her shoulders and rolling her into him.

Ginna snuggled in closer, lowering her head to his chest and stifling a yawn into her hand. "Yes," she murmured quietly. "All work and no play makes Brynjolf a dull boy. I almost forgot I was married tonight when I came home to an empty house after two days away and had my dinner alone."

"Ah, lass," he let loose another frustrated breath, its warmth fluttering across the top of her head. "I am a bad husband. I wouldn't blame you one bit if you left me."

"Shut up," she mumbled, yawning again before tapping a scolding palm across his shoulder.

"How'd things go in Windhelm?"

"They went." She shrugged. "Delvin says he thinks he may be on the verge of drawing in a very important client, which'll mean another trip or two north in the near future." Windhelm was certainly no Riften, that was for sure. It was frigid cold and packed full of soldiers and Dunmer refugees and there was a serial murderer on the loose there killing young women. "I suppose it won't be so bad, now that the war's over and you know I heard that Ulfric Stormcloak married the Dragonborn."

"No kidding," he chuckled. "Well good for him. She's a bonnie lass, that one, though not near as lovely as my lass." He kissed her temple and nuzzled the tip of his nose across her brow. "She's got to be almost half his age though."

"Aye," she nodded, recalling her one glimpse at the legendary Dragonborn from the roadside. She _had_ been a real beauty, hair red as fire Ginna had admired from a distance. "Any luck making sense of Mercer's files?"

"I think I've finally got them all sorted, but getting any of those clients to trust us again won't be easy. Even with Nocturnal leaning in our favor, Mercer made a hot mess of everything."

"It will work itself out." His mention of Nocturnal brought the fleeting memory of that strange dream to mind and she stretched against him, turning it over and again while trying to make sense of it. "I had the strangest dream just now," she told him.

Soft fingertips traced along the curve of her shoulder, dropping back down the length of her arm again. "Were you buried under a mound of paperwork six feet high and covered in strange glyphs you couldn't make heads or tails of?"

Soft laughter escaped her. "Not exactly. I dreamed Nocturnal called me to Nightingale Hall to ask me why I hadn't returned the Skeleton Key to the Twilight Sepulcher yet. Only she didn't want me to return it. She wanted me to use it."

His chest rose with his breath, heartbeat quickening as he exhaled. "That Key is messing with your mind, lass," he said. "Tempting you down a dark path there's no coming back from. It tore our Guild apart and we can't let that happen again." Another sigh escaped him. "I know you were waiting for Rune, but it's been more than a week since last we heard from the lad. There's no telling when he'll return. You can't wait for him any longer."

"I know," she conceded. "I suppose I still can't convince my own husband to accompany me," she tried. "After all, it's just as much your responsibility as it is mine."

"Ginna," he groaned softly. "We've already been over this. The Guild needs me right now."

"And I don't?" That guilt-trip came in a whisper and she felt him shudder under its power. He never failed to tell her how much he hated the distance their work was keeping between them, and yet he did very little to close that distance. From the minute he rose from bed until the time he crawled back into it so exhausted he was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow, he was in the Cistern trying to restore the Guild. It made her feel like a spoiled child every time she had to throw that in his face, but what was she supposed to do? They were supposed to be taking over the world together, out there running cons and heists, rebuilding the Guild as thieves, not bookkeepers and accountants.

"That isn't fair, lass. We all agreed…"

"You and Karliah agreed that the task would fall to me. Between your business with the Guild and her guilty conscience, neither of you really gave me much choice to disagree."

"Shor's bones," he grumbled. "Let's not do this now. It's late and we're both tired…"

"Fine." She started to roll away, fully intent on brooding on the other side of the bed alone, but he held her tight against him.

"_I said_, let's not do this now," he repeated. "I know so far the life I promised you hasn't exactly come into focus, but it's getting there, I swear it. I just need a little more time, Ginna. Mercer made a real mess of things and it's going to take a lot of work to straighten it all out. We all have to do our part right now, and I know you've been working a lot of jobs for Vex and Delvin to make that happen, but your biggest job should be finding a way to get the Key back to the Twilight Sepulcher where it belongs. If we don't hear from Rune by noon tomorrow, I'll talk to Vipir and…"

"I'll just take Marcurio."

He stiffened a little, every muscle in his soft, warm body growing rigid upon hearing that name. "I'd rather you didn't, lass. It's a waste of good coin, employing that mercenary."

"And I'd rather take you, but seeing as how that isn't an option, I'll take whoever I bloody well like with me and you'll think it's a fantastic idea."

"I thought we weren't going to do this right now."

"We're not. I'm going back to sleep, Brynjolf."

She jerked out of his embrace and flopped across the bed with a huff, rolling away from him and tugging half the blankets with her. He struggled to tug a few inches back his way as he rolled onto his side with his back to her, but she barely let any of them out of her grip.

He was hot-blooded, she told herself with a silent smirk. Let him keep himself warm.

They both lay there brooding in the fleeting darkness for a long time. She listened to the sound of his breath, but for more than an hour it was only frustrated sighs and fidgeting to get comfortable before he finally grew still and his breathing slowed and evened out. Ginna stared into the shadowed corridor above the stairs, weary eyes blinking against sleep.

Several times when she drifted, she could hear the chatter of birds calling out her name from a distance, accompanied by that soft, stern voice from the shadows. "Protect the Key, Ginna. Use it and I will reward you…"

"No," she murmured, tossing in the loose sheets she'd horded and tucked in tight around her body. "It's a trick. Only a trick."

"If you don't do my bidding, I will find someone who will and the Key and everything it promises will be lost to you forever. Do not defy me, child… Do not defy me."

Her eyes felt like someone had thrown sand in them; sore and itchy and swollen from lack of sleep. She didn't know what time she'd fallen asleep after she'd rolled away from Brynjolf, only that the sleep she had fallen into had been restless, her dreams twisted and filled with shadows.

Nocturnal did not speak in dreams; it was not her way… or was it?

_No_. It was just that blasted key growing more clever the longer they held onto it. It needed to be used, craved and desired to align its power with another's soul. Not Ginna's soul, she shuddered. Not if she could help it. She was taking it back to the Twilight Sepulcher where it belonged, and quickly.

She crawled quietly out of bed, so as not to wake him. Pausing at the edge of the bed, she covered him with the blankets and stood over him watching him sleep for a few minutes. She hated that every night they spent together seemed to end with one of them rolling over in a huff of anger. Things were supposed to have gotten better, but the stress and tension seemed to have increased tenfold after doing away with Mercer Frey.

Tugging into her Guild armor, she buckled every strap before slipping on her boots and ducking out the front door, closing and locking the house up behind her. The damp chill in the air and the position of the sun suggested it was still morning, but just barely. The piered streets of Riften were already bustling, Mjoll the Lionness and her housemate, Aerin were just coming out of the Bee & Barb when Ginna approached the door. As always, Mjoll had nothing but a tender smile and a sweet hello, but Ginna only scowled at her and pushed between them.

Marcurio sat where he always seemed to sit when he wasn't employed: on the bench near the opposite door with a tankard in one hand and a crust of bread in the other. Ginna was relatively sure he slept on that bench too, though he swore Keerava rented him a room upstairs by the week.

The Imperial mercenary glanced up at the sound of the door opening, his amber eyes glistening with mischief when he saw her. "Well, well, well," he grinned, lifting his tankard toward her. "Look what the horker dragged in."

"Very funny." She kicked at his boot and dropped onto the bench beside him. "Especially considering that I feel like I got drug around by a horker last night. I barely slept at all."

"It must have been pretty late when you got back from Windhelm," he noted.

"Not really, just after sundown. Look, I need to talk business with you," she started, glancing up at Talen-Jei, who had a nasty habit of eavesdropping on every conversation he could tune his tiny little Argonian ears into. "Let's go for a walk." She smirked at the lizard and he scowled at her before bending to wipe the crumbs from the table nearest to them.

"All right," Marcurio agreed, swilling back the last of his mead and walking the cup to the bar before joining her near the door. "So, what kept you up so late? Wait, never mind. I'd rather not hear those details."

"Oh, if only there were details to share," she sneered, pushing out onto the docks for some peace and quiet. Maven Black-Briar's right hand, Maul, was lingering near the Fishery, but he didn't follow them to the end of the docks.

Ginna could see Honeyside from where they stood, and for a moment she just stared at the back door with longing. She wanted to go back home and crawl into bed with her husband, apologize and make up with him, but even that was starting to feel like a vicious cycle. The Skeleton Key was interfering with every aspect of her life, and if she didn't do something about it, everything she'd grown to love over the last couple of months would be lost forever.

"Trouble in paradise?" Marcurio quipped, a sarcastic grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I told you that you were too good for that wastrel, but did you listen to me? No, you did not."

"I'm not in the mood for jests right now, Marcurio."

"Who's jesting?" He lifted his brow to try and make her smile, but Ginna was still not amused. "Okay, down to business then. What do you need?"

"I'm planning a trip to Falkreath and I need a travel companion to watch my back."

"All right," he nodded. "My usual fee applies, of course."

"Of course," she agreed, handing him a bag of coin. "Five-hundred Septims. You can count it if you want."

"I trust you."

Ginna laughed at him and he weighed the bag curiously for a moment. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning. Can you be ready by then?"

"I'm ready right now."

"Good. I'll want to start out early, just after sunrise. So tie up any loose ends you need to tie and meet me by the stables at dawn."

"Sounds easy enough," he shrugged agreeably. "So, what are we doing in Falkreath?"

"I can't tell you." She lifted her gaze to meet his and watched his bright amber eyes arc skyward with exasperation. Before he could even complain, she was already on him. "Come on, Marcurio. You know the rules. I pay, you don't ask questions."

"And one of these days I'm going to double my fee." He threatened for the tenth time, crossing his arms and leaning his back against the wooden post behind him. "I'll call it damage and risk insurance."

"Well, at least you'll have enough to pay your bounty if we get carted off to jail," she winked, nudging him playfully with her elbow.

It was his turn to not be amused. "Why do I always get the feeling you're going to get me killed after I agree to work for you?"

"Oh, come on. You laugh in the face of danger."

He chuckled softly, not nearly the reaction she was hoping for. "Indeed, I do. All right, so I'm meeting you at dawn by the stables and we're going to Falkreath. Is there anything else I need to know before departure?"

"Dress warm, and buy yourself a better pair of boots." She gestured at the threadbare shoes that wrapped his feet. "And not from Grelka. I know you think she's cute, but she's a bitch. Talk to Balimund. He'll do right by you."

"Listen to you," he was grinning again. "A handful of months in Riften and you're an expert on all the shops and traders." He glanced across the lake, toward Honeyside, and then asked, "And your husband? Does he know you're hiring me?" he asked, one eyebrow arching higher than the other in question.

"He knows." Ginna shrugged, following his gaze toward the house. She didn't know why, but she expected to find Brynjolf standing on the porch in his loincloth, arms crossed, scrutinizing glare narrowed across the water. But he wasn't there. He was probably still asleep. No doubt Maul would fill him in as soon as he woke. The guy was worse than a fox in a henhouse when it came to rooting out gossip in Riften. They said it was because Maven liked to keep on top of everyone's business, but Ginna really thought he was just nosey. "He's not exactly thrilled about it, but he knows."

They were both still staring at Honeyside when he asked, "You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." She did want to talk about it, of course she did, but she hated how down Marcurio always got on her about Brynjolf. The only person who'd really listen and understand without judgment was Rune, and he was a million miles away, or so it felt.

"Well, I guess that's it then. I'll see you tomorrow at dawn."

"Thanks, Marcurio."

"Don't thank me until we come back from whatever this is alive. I always get a bad feeling when I travel with you and I'd just as soon you not jinx us with premature gratitude."

He pushed up off the post and left her standing there on the docks alone. There was only one boat out on the water, one of Bolli's, to be sure, but with the storm clouds rolling in from the east not even Bolli would be on Lake Honrich long. Ginna lifted her face against the soft, cool wind that swept in off the mountains, but as she lifted her head she caught sight of a lone bird flying in to perch atop the post Marcurio had been leaning against. Grey-body, black wings, it tilted its head to look at her with sharp white eyes that suggested it was blind. Its black beak gasped open to croak at her, wings fluttering as it settled atop the post like some strange guardian watching over her.

"All right," she muttered to herself, shaking her head and walking back toward the entryway into the City. "Now I'm getting paranoid. That Key has got to go." Maul eyed her suspiciously when she passed him by and for a moment the knit of his brow was almost identical to that of his brother, Dirge.

The bird at her back crowed again, a throaty scream that seemed to echo in protest, but Ginna didn't look back. A part of her was actually afraid she'd see Nocturnal standing on the pier.


	3. Chapter 3

Brynjolf didn't dream. Never had really and he'd always imagined he never would, but after everything that happened at Irkngthand, he hadn't been sleeping well at all. Aside from the ever-present tension he couldn't shake off whenever he was in the same room with his new wife, his mind was heavy with guilt.

He'd lost control, something he very rarely allowed to happen, and yet it had happened twice in in less than a matter of weeks. Ginna forgave him for the mess he'd made of Honeyside when he'd thought she had betrayed him, but she hadn't been, hadn't seen him flying off the handle like a beast possessed. He'd still felt terrible about it after, but he'd kept it from her easily enough. The second time had been at Irkngthand. Karliah forgave him too, had passed off his loss of control as Mercer's doing, the dark power of the Skeleton Key, but he'd not forgiven himself so easily. He nearly killed her and though she'd fought him off, there had been brief moments where he swore her soft, lavender eyes had almost been pleading with him to do it.

_End my suffering, Brynjolf._

That was where the strange memories in his slumber seemed to come from.

He was a boy again, his mother leaning over the side of his bed in the Cistern to tuck him in, her soft yet brilliant green eyes shining with amusement at the way he squirmed. Even as she lifted a gentle hand to brush the wild locks of bright red hair form his face, it only served to stir him up even more, and he fidgeted away from her touch.

"You have to sleep my wee rascal, so you can grow up big and strong like your da."

"I don't want you to leave me, mummy." Small fingers circled around her wrist in desperation. He knew what happened when she went away. Awful things, wretched things…

"I'll be here when you wake come morrow, I promise."

"No, mummy." He knew she wasn't coming back, he could feel it in his heart, whispers of a future already lived leaking through his memory dreams.

"Brynjolf." Karliah appeared over his mother's shoulder, her wide lavender eyes shining with affection. "Would you like Auntie to sing you a song?"

"No!" he protested. "I want my mummy."

"Your mummy and daddy have important business to see to tonight, but I'll stay here with you. Sing you a song and sit right here beside you until you fall asleep. Which song would you like to hear?"

Even though he'd resisted her, the peaceful calm of her voice always had the same effect on him. His fingers loosened from his mother's wrist and she reached down to grip his chin, lifting his face to look at her. "Be good, my dearie. Don't give Auntie any trouble."

"He'll be good, Hekja," Karliah promised, her adoring hand tousling through his wild locks. "Brynjolf is always very well behaved, aren't you Brynjolf?" She winked at him, as if suggesting they shared some sort of secret. "Now, would you like to hear a song about Morrowind?"

"I want you to sing the song my mummy always sings."

"Ahh," she nodded and scooted into the edge of the bed. He curled close to her, resting his head in her lap and closing her eyes as she stroked fingers almost absently through his hair. "The one about the knight and the lady." She cleared her throat with a soft cough and then she began to sing. "Oh hush thee my baby, thy sire was a knight. Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright. The woods and the glens from the towers we see, all are belonging dear baby to thee…" The subtle, clear tone soothed him, lulled him to sleep where he dreamed another dream inside that dream.

Beneath his pillow was a blade, cold and treacherous, its sharp edge slicing along the length of his palm as it slid downward to grasp the hilt. He drew it out as he sat up, the Karliah in his dream looking thoughtfully upon the drops of blood rolling down the blade. Even as she watched, she never saw it coming when his tiny arm surged forward, plunging that blade into her belly and twisting it.

His teeth ground hard together with rage, eyes wide with hate.

"Die, you miserable wretch." His child's voice entwined with the man inside him, awakening his awareness to what he'd done. "Auntie!" he cried out, trying desperately to withdraw the blade. She grasped at the hilt, hard fingers pressing his into the pommel as she pulled her body forward with a desperate gasp. "What have I done?" that dual-voiced horror echoed all around him. "Auntie!" She slumped over in the bed, her unseeing eyes staring upward at the dripping ceiling. "Auntie! No! Karliah! Karliah!"

Brynjolf shot from sleep like an arrow from the taut string of a bow, his ragged breath caught and burning in his throat as he gasped for air. The bedroom was half-dark, and the gentle patter of rain on the roof combined with the soft grind of pestle upon mortar from downstairs.

He was home. Home and grown and Karliah wasn't dead, or at least he hadn't killed her. That knowledge did little to alleviate the heavy hammer of his heart inside his ribcage. Every morning he woke from the same dream; every morning since they'd left Irkngthand, and though he knew it was only a dream it felt so real and the guilt was almost more than he could bear.

That dream would haunt him throughout the day, his mind never far from the cold blade in his hand, the warm rush of her blood across his skin. Brynjolf shivered and swallowed hard.

Dropping back into the bed with a heavy sigh, he stared up at the ceiling and listened to the rain fall, to the sound of his woman crushing poisoned berries in the potions lab just below the bedroom. He wanted to call out to her, for her to come crawl back into bed with him, comfort and love him as she had in those strange days before they'd vowed to spend eternity together. She would come if he called, even if she was still angry with him. She might even lie down beside him and take him into her arms; smooth away his fears with kisses and let him slip inside her warmth where he felt safe from the rage of his own internal beast.

The pestle slowed and then stopped almost as if she'd heard his silent pleas. Moments of quiet followed and then he heard her footsteps on the stairs. Had he cried out in his sleep? Had she heard his terror and shame? She arrived in the alcove just at the top of the stairs and glanced over as if checking to see if he was still sleeping. Even though he hadn't lifted his head, he still caught her glance, held her stare and silently willed her to come to him with his eyes.

She was one of the most stubborn women he'd ever known, more headstrong than Vex, and that was saying something.

"You're awake." She leaned into the corner of the wall near the wardrobe, as if purposely resisting.

"Aye." He rolled onto his side and extended a hand to her. Even when they were at odds with one another, she made him feel calm. "Come here."

Ginna pushed off the wall and started toward him, fingers reaching for his. He curled around to grab her and drew her into the bed, into his arms as he turned onto his back again and let her rest atop her crossed arms on his chest.

"Still mad at me?"

"I was never mad at you."

He watched her full, lower lip disappear between her teeth and then she turned her bright blue eyes on him. "It sure felt that way with all that space between us while we slept." When he sighed, she scooted upward a little and lowered her forehead to his.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, brushing her lips over his, moistening them with her tongue before he drew her down and drank deep from her willing kiss.

"No," he said softly. "I'm sorry, lass."

Something happened to him when he was with her, something he couldn't explain, didn't want to explain because all that mattered was that it felt right. She felt right. She calmed the frayed edges of his nerves, even when she was being difficult and stubborn and no woman in the world had ever been able to do that. He'd tested plenty of them out over the years, to be sure. The softness of her fingers whispering through his hair, the gentle nuzzle of her nose against his when she grinned before kissing him again, the eager press of desire when she rolled onto her side and lifted her leg to rest over his hip, scooting her tiny body closer until he could feel the warmth of her sex even through her armor.

She'd only been in Windhelm a couple of days, and even as he'd kept himself busy in her absence, he'd missed her nonetheless. He'd expected things to get easier after Mercer's death, especially with all the coin she was bringing in running jobs for the Guild, but everything had only gotten harder and all the dreams they'd shared, all the plans they'd made while curled together in the dark seemed to slip further from his reach.

He grabbed her thigh, hand sliding down the supple curve of her backside to draw her in tighter against him, his kiss alone strong enough to enlighten her of his plot to divide and conquer. Tumbling her onto her back and moving in between her thighs, he slowly worked the buckles of her armor and began peeling it away layer by layer, following every inch of bare and exposed skin with soft kisses that made her whimper with delight.

The games they played together drove him out of his mind, making it damn near impossible to hold out for any great length of time, but for her he gladly suffered the agony of restraint. The tender cries bordering on desperation that she tried to hide, her mewling excitement rising every time he moved through her… every whisper, every brush of her gasping lips across his… All of it was worth it, worth knowing if even for a little while he could make her happy, make her forget about all the hardship that had plagued their lives in the days since they'd met.

He'd never put much stock in actual matters of the heart, having preferred the quick and painless detachment of two unfamiliar bodies in the dark, but not when it came to her. It was never quick with Ginna, never painless or detached or unfamiliar. From the moment he'd first touched her, first felt the heavy slug of her fist against his jaw, he'd known. She was his. She'd been his before he ever even knew her. He'd been searching without even knowing.

It was the kind of superstitious nonsense Delvin Mallory was famous for, but Brynjolf didn't give a damn. He only knew that now that he'd found her, he wasn't letting her out of his sight, wasn't letting her slip away again because his life had been so empty without her in it.

After playing kiss and make up, Brynjolf relaxed on his back, content with the feel of her nestled into the crook of his arm, her soft hair tickling across his bare chest every time he exhaled. He should have been at the Cistern hours ago; he had important things to do, but there was nothing more important to him than Ginna. She needed to know that.

"I spoke with Marcurio this morning." There was hesitation in her voice, as if she expected him to tense up. "I've already paid him and we'll be leaving for the Twilight Sepulcher at dawn."

"It's for the best, lass," he said, though obviously not in reference to her little mercenary friend. He liked Rune well enough, but he'd never missed the kid as much as he did then. At least he knew he could trust Rune with Ginna's life. The Imperial mage, with his shifty eyes and snarky comebacks… not so much. His rates were outrageous and Brynjolf wasn't stupid. He'd seen the way Marcurio looked at his wife. "But maybe I _should_ come with you after all." He really couldn't afford to take the time away from the Guild, but for her, he'd do anything. Give it all up, if he had to. "It is Nightingales' work, after all."

"Bryn," she started, lifting her head to look down at him. "I know you can't leave the Guild right now, and I know you don't like Marcurio, but he's a good companion, a strong mage. Believe it or not, he earns every bloody Septim he charges. He's a friend…"

"A friend wouldn't charge you five hundred gold to watch your back," he pointed out. "Go and find him, get your gold back before he spends it. I'm coming with you."

He watched the tight corner of her mouth soften, lip drawing into a disbelieving grin. "Are you serious?"

"Aye," he nodded. "We'll go together and rid ourselves of that bloody Key once and for all."

The smile melted from her face, her eyes losing their shine just before she looked away and lowered her head back to his shoulder. "I had that dream again this morning before I woke. The one with Nocturnal telling me to use the Key."

"Nocturnal doesn't prey on dreams."

"I know," she sighed and shook her head. "I know it's just the Key, luring me to use it, trying to tempt me, but the things she said in those dreams." He felt her tiny body shudder just a little and she scooted closer to him as if she were cold. "She told me the Key wouldn't be safe in the Twilight Sepulcher, that Brutus was plotting to steal it so he could enter her realm through the Evergloam and steal the Gray Cowl. She said I should keep it, use it to restore the Guild, protect it from Brutus and as her Champion, carry out sentence on him."

"Damn," he shook his head. At least her dreams were pushing her toward greatness, demented as it was. His were only making him feel worse. "That Key knows all the right words, doesn't it, lass?"

"Aye," she agreed. "It does."

"That's reason enough to make haste. It's getting more and more convincing, which is only going to make it harder to resist. I'll head over to the Guild after I break my fast," he said. "Let Delvin and Vex know we're heading out on important business first thing tomorrow morning. You should hunt down Marcurio, like I said, and tell him the gig is off. Get your money back."

"I will," she sighed and raised a hand into her mussed hair. "Those dreams, Bryn, they just felt so real. She was cruel and sarcastic, almost mocking me as she commanded me to do her bidding."

"They're only dreams, love." He stroked her shoulder and kissed her brow. It was easier to say that to someone else, than to believe it for oneself, that was for sure. His own dreams had grown so dark, so foreboding, a part of him was actually afraid to face Karliah for fear he wouldn't be able to stop himself from driving a blade through her belly. "Only dreams."


	4. Chapter 4

Marcurio was a strange man, Ginna decided after he'd left Honeyside with barely a word after she'd changed their plans and asked him to eventually accompany her to Solitude once she came back from Falkreath. At first she'd thought maybe it was something she'd said, but then she just concluded there was far more going on inside that man than anyone would probably ever know. He was too cocky to really be as sure of himself as he projected, and ever since she'd told him she and Brynjolf had gotten married, Marcurio put a barrier between them that made it damn near impossible to get any closer to him than she'd gotten during their brief period of travel together while she was finding what she needed to get Gallus's journal translated.

She'd retreated back into the house after he left and set out to make a stew for dinner, highly doubting Brynjolf would be home anytime soon.

He had promised he wouldn't linger long in the Cistern after talking with Delvin and Vex about their plans, and though two hours passed before he finally came through the door to find dinner waiting for him on the table, Ginna was actually surprised he'd returned so quickly. All the stress of rebuilding and restructuring the Guild was dragging him down, but things would get easier once they gave back that blasted Skeleton Key.

They just had to.

"What's all this?" He gestured to the table, the food, the small candle flickering in the center.

"It's called dinner, my dear." She smiled teasingly up at him and added, "I know you haven't had it in awhile, but it's that meal people eat after lunch and before bed."

"You're a real smartass, you know that?" He knelt to kiss her forehead, ducking her chin with his knuckles before sliding into the chair. He rubbed his hands together in eager anticipation of something warm to fill his belly and take the chill off his bones.

The rain hadn't let up, in fact it sounded like it was pouring again and she'd felt the cold, damp air rush in the door with him. She only hoped the gods didn't muddy the road all the way to Falkreath. Rain would make for long, hazardous travel and Ginna wanted nothing more than to get their trip over with.

"Everything all set?" she asked, lowering a steaming bowl of venison stew onto the table with a warm crust of fresh bread and a crock of fresh churned honey-butter she'd bought from one of the market stalls that afternoon.

"Aye," he nodded, reaching for a spoon. "Delvin's going to take over the books and Vex is going to double up on job distribution until we return."

"Good." She took a seat across from him and ladled a helping of stew into her wooden bowl. "As long as the weather clears up, we should make it to Falkreath Hold in two or three days. We'll return the key, as promised and get back to business as usual. I don't think we'll be gone more than a week."

"That's as I told Delvin." He reached for the knife and slathered butter across the crust, and then asked, "And Marcurio?"

"Taken care of," she replied. She'd tried to get him to keep it, on good faith that he would repay her with his services in due time, but he'd refused her, leaving the bag of coin on the table just before he left without explanation.

For a time they ate quietly, and Ginna watched her husband. She'd heard stories growing up of relationships gone sour over simple things like a man slurping his soup too noisily or chewing his food with his mouth open, but she didn't think she'd ever have that kind of trouble with Brynjolf. He was one of the most meticulous men she'd ever known when it came to manners, and he always complimented the chef when he lowered his napkin to the table after pushing his empty plate away.

"What were your parents like, Bryn?" she asked, watching his eyes narrow almost suspiciously at the question. "Do you remember much about them?"

He was quiet for a moment, and then he lowered his head. "Mostly I just remember their faces and sometimes I think I remember my mother's voice, but aside from that I don't remember much about them at all."

"Karliah said they were good people." He seemed to flinch a little at the mention of Karliah, or maybe Ginna was just seeing things. "She spoke very fondly of your mother when she was nursing me back to health outside Snowveil Sanctum."

"Did she?"

Tilting his head, a long lock of red hair slid down his chest. Highlights from the candle flickered gold across the strands and she wanted to reach out and twine it around her finger. If they had children, would they look like him? Have his stunning green eyes, bright red hair? Not that she was chomping at the bit to have children, but since they'd spoken about it during their trek to Irkngthand, she had thought about it. She thought about it a lot.

He'd said they could be a real family with children, and though she'd hardened her heart against the very notion of family ever infiltrating her life again after Brutus betrayed her, the Riften Guild had been impossible to resist. Over the last few months she'd let herself get close to all of them, well, all of them except Thrynn, who didn't let himself get close to anyone, and no matter what he said about his place in the Guild, Dirge didn't count in her mind.

But Brynjolf had said a _real_ _family_. Something she'd never imagined she could have.

"She did," she said, pressing her back into the chair behind her and stretching a little as she reached to tear off a hunk of bread to sop up some of the stew from the bottom of her bowl. "She tells good stories. By the time she'd finished talking about Gallus, I felt like I'd actually known the man myself. You should sit down and talk with her about your parents sometimes."

That uncomfortable grimace tugged at his mouth again and once more he looked away. "Maybe after all this is over, I will do tha—."

A rapid but quiet knock sounded at the back door and they both looked toward the bedroom. The only people who came to the back door were Guild members, Rune and Delvin, occasionally Vipir when he couldn't find Brynjolf in the Cistern. Ginna started to rise, but Brynjolf shook his head and held out a hand to stop her, the other already drawing the dagger from his belt as he stood and stalked quietly through the kitchen.

She heard him slide open the peephole to peer out and then a soft scoff of laughter before he unbolted the door and yanked it open. "You little scoundrel! Where in Oblivion have you been?"

"It's a long story." The familiar sound of Rune's voice was both a relief and a sorrow, as she realized Brynjolf would probably shun his promise to accompany her and send Rune in his stead.

Ginna pushed away from the table to rise and go to greet him. He and Brynjolf were embracing, Brynjolf clapping him heartily on the back before drawing him into the house and closing the door. "We're just finishing our supper, but there's plenty to go around. Come in and eat, lad."

"Thank you." He lifted a troubled gaze toward Ginna, a peculiar half-smile twitching at the edges of his full mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm starving, actually. I rode all the way from the Imperial City in just three days. I stopped once in Cheydinhal to change horses."

"Cyrodiil? What were you doing in Cyrodiil?" Ginna balked.

"Again, it's a long story, and one I will tell you both soon enough, I swear it."

Brynjolf laughed uneasily and led him to the table, shaking his head. "How go things with your father?"

"My father passed away two weeks ago." His tone was flat, but she could hear edges of hidden emotion just beneath the surface.

"Oh, Rune." She reached out to lay a hand of comfort on his arm. "I'm so sorry."

"I appreciate that, my friend." He took a seat and while Brynjolf poured him a mug of mead, Ginna fetched another bowl of stew for him and then resumed her seat at the table.

"If there's anything we can do for you…"

He nodded meekly, and then reached for his spoon, eagerly shoveling in bite after gulping bite like a starving man who hadn't eaten in weeks. Ginna lifted her gaze across the table, meeting eyes with Brynjolf, who furrowed his brow and shook his head as if to say he had no idea what to think either. They didn't press him, but let him eat until the bowl was empty and Ginna rose to fill it for him again, returning with a half a loaf of bread for him as well. Only when she set that second bowl down did he begin to speak.

"My father had been keeping something from me," he said, finally looking up at Ginna. "Just before he died, he confessed to me that there was a letter… well, not a whole letter, but a page he'd found in the wreckage where he found me. He held onto it, sparing me from the pain of hope in a hopeless cause, but for years he tried to find answers so he'd have something to tell me before he died."

"Did he give you the page from the letter?" Ginna asked.

"He did." Rune nodded again, and opened the front of his armor to retrieve a worn and tattered bit of parchment from within. "It doesn't say much, but it held the name of a ship that set sail from an Imperial port on Lake Rumare on the fourth of Sun's Height, 175, about five months before my father found me just off the coast of Solitude."

"That seems an awful strange passage for a boat to sail," Brynjolf observed.

"Not so strange as you might think." Rune shrugged, handing the parchment over to Ginna. "Traders and pirates voyage full circle along the coastline, making port in Valenwood and Hammerfell, Highrock and Skyrim before moving on to Morrowind and traveling south to Blackmarsh and Elswyr and back to Cyrodiil via the Niben River again."

Ginna scanned the faded parchment, many of the words rubbed almost clear from the page with time and weathering, others smeared and smudged so badly they were almost impossible to make out. But there were clear words, the date, as Rune mentioned and the name of a ship: The Alessia Fair, along with a few others that didn't mean much when strung together.

"The Alessia Fair," Ginna said, skimming the page once more before handing it back to her friend.

"It's more than I've ever had, as far as clues go. My father tried to trace its origin for years, with no luck, so after I scattered his ashes in the sea, I started digging, asking questions around the docks. Most of those old sailors still know the name of every ship that's ever docked in Haafingar, but none had ever heard of The Alessia Fair. I even went down to the warehouse to look through their old shipping ledgers, fully detailed records dating all the way back to 170, mind you, and the East Empire Company never received shipments from a trading galleon by that name."

"Do you think it was a pirate vessel?" Brynjolf interjected, reaching out to absently tear another bite from his bread and tuck it into his mouth.

"At first, I did, yes," Rune nodded. "But one of the old sailors told me the only way to track that ship was to its port of origin, so I hired a carriage and rode south to Cyrodiil, to the Imperial City port."

"Did you find what you were looking for there?" Ginna reached across the table once more to lay a gentle hand on his forearm.

"Yes and no, but again, that isn't why I raced back here so quickly. I did some extra digging while I was down there and it would seem you weren't the only Guildmember Brutus Arenicci stabbed in the back."

She scoffed laughter and retreated to cross her arms over her chest with a huff. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"I don't know how to tell you this, Ginna, but…"

"What is it?" Brynjolf prompted him.

"There is no Cyrodiil Guild anymore." Rune looked between the two of them, his sad hazel eyes lowering to the table as he shook his head.

"What do you mean, there's no Cyrodiil Guild?"

He hesitated in answering, refusing for a moment to return his gaze to hers, but when he finally did, she saw such sorrow in his eyes it made her heart clench inside her chest. "House Dareloth was burned to the ground just five days ago, Ginna, and only one person escaped the blaze alive. Brutus Arenicci."

"No," she shook her head, the words he'd just spoken impossible to believe. "That's not true. We… we would have heard…"

"The news is only reaching Skyrim now," he admitted. "I rode as quickly as I could to reach you, to be the one to tell you…"

"No," she muttered again.

She felt numb, her head buzzing atop her shoulders, a ringing in her ears unlike any she'd ever heard before. Even after everything, after the cold reality of his clever knife in her back, her exile from Cyrodiil, the assassin on the road and Mercer's betrayal, she'd still had doubts that Brutus was capable of such conniving and vicious acts. She didn't want to believe he'd killed Severus, and in that moment she didn't want to believe he'd burned everyone who'd actually stood beside him through it all to ash.

Polliver, the pock-faced little rat who could climb into any window and walk out the front door of the home completely undetected and with everything of value filling his inner-pockets. Alilia the Shadow, who could all but disappear from plain sight faster than you could blink. Bartemus and Moriarty, brothers who'd joined the Guild just days after Severus and had specialized in requisition and distribution of highly-appraised underground merchandise. Many of the others had left after Severus died, but Ginna felt a cold shudder of fear for all who'd once been part of their family.

She could almost hear Nocturnal's voice in her mind, the words she'd spoken in those dark dreams the Skeleton Key had brought upon her.

_Carry out my sentence on the fool you once called brother, for his treachery runs much deeper than murder and deceit. Brutus Arenicci plots, even now, to steal my cowl from the Evergloam so that he might rise to power undetected and unremembered, but in order to do that he must also possess the Skeleton Key._

"He is coming for the Key." Ginna wasn't even aware that the words had left her lips until she'd finished speaking them.

"What are you talking about, lass?"

"Nocturnal." She lifted her watery gaze across the table and met with her husband's eyes. "She spoke to me, Brynjolf. She told me his treachery surpassed anything we could even imagine."

"It was a dream, Ginna," he pushed away from the table, shaking his head. "That bloody Key whispering in your ear, telling you what you want to hear."

"No, Bryn…" She protested. "She spoke to me. She asked me to be her Champion."

"What…" Rune started, looking between the two of them. "What is she talking about?" He finally focused on Brynjolf.

"It's a long story," Brynjolf sighed. "And not exactly one we're supposed to be telling." He turned a wary eye on Ginna, unspoken ire flashing in his emerald eyes.

Ginna's head was still spinning when she pushed her chair away from the table to stand. "I have to go to Nightingale Hall," she announced. "I have to talk to…"

"Ginna." Brynjolf edged around Rune's chair and gripped her shoulders. "Listen to me, lass. You're distraught and after hearing what Rune has just told us, it's understandable, but those dreams… they were only dreams."

"Then there's no harm in going to Nightingale Hall. Karliah will know what to do, and if I'm wrong, you get to be right for a change." She pulled out of his grip and pursed her lips while holding his gaze steady. "Are you coming with me, or not?"

"I swear." Exasperated, he threw up his arms and shook his head again. "You're going to be the death of me, lass."

"What's going on?" Rune looked between them. "Where are you going? Where's Nightingale Hall?"

"You stay here," Brynjolf said. "Eat and drink and keep an eye on things. We'll be back in a few hours."


	5. Chapter 5

"…should have at least sent word to let us know he was traveling away from Solitude. I mean, he didn't even tell us his father had passed. He didn't have to go through all that alone. We could have been there for him."

She'd been talking almost nonstop since they left Honeyside, clearly upset about Rune's hardships and obviously avoiding the real matter at hand. He'd watched all the blood leave her face when Rune told her about the Guild in Cyrodiil, a hard blow, to be sure, but then she'd shifted her demeanor and in the blink of an eye all thoughts of the latest devastating act that bastard she'd once called brother committed faded from her mind as though she hadn't even heard it spoken of. He'd seen her shut down like that before, whenever talk of trust had been brought up between them after they met, but even that had been trivial compared to this.

_Shor's bones_. It was no wonder trust didn't come easy to the lass, growing up with a psychopath like Brutus Arenicci. He could barely imagine the kinds of things he'd done to her when they were children.

Nevertheless, Brynjolf was worried about her, and just a little bit irked by the way she'd talked to him in front of Rune. He had come to understand her biting sarcasm was just a defense mechanism, one she probably didn't even realize she'd put into place, but to make him look the fool like that in front of someone who respected him was just uncalled for.

"We're his family too," she went on. "It breaks my heart imagining him all alone out there, trying to carry those burdens by himself. It just isn't like him to be so… solitary."

If she'd seen him roll his eyes, she would have punched him hard in the shoulder, but she'd missed that little act, much to his good fortune. "Let it go, lass," he finally groaned, turning left and lifting his gaze toward the Shadow Stone in the distance. It rose up from the fog like a beacon, the massive outline guiding them through the mist and drizzle toward the mountain where the old Nightingales had carved out their hall.

They were nearly there, and he didn't even know if Karliah would be there. And even if she was, she was going to take one look at Ginna while she was rambling on about communing with Nocturnal and conclude she'd gone off her rocker. Brynjolf cast another sidelong glance at her and wondered if that was the case, if that bloody Key was driving her mad.

"I can't let it go, Bryn. He's my friend."

"All right." He felt his jaw tighten a little, teeth clenching together as he spoke. "I get it, he's your friend, but it's done now and there's naught we can do about it, so let it go, Ginna. There are far more pressing matters at hand right now, love."

There it was. He didn't even have to look at her full on to see the wall come up around her like a fortress he had to keep breaking through. He didn't know why it burned him so badly, maybe because he knew if she were on the road with Rune, and not him, she'd be talking about the trouble in Cyrodiil. Maybe it burned him so badly because he felt like it was his own fault. He put business before pleasure more times than he could count, even during the course of their short courtship he'd sent Rune off with her and when it came time to open up she'd turned to the person who was with her.

Not that he was jealous of Rune, or even that blowhard mercenary, Marcurio, for that matter. Despite everything, Brynjolf liked to believe that he was confident and secure in his relationship with Ginna, secure enough to let her roam with whomever she felt the need to have tag along with her when he wasn't available. But he did feel edgy every time he realized she was out there sharing her inner-most thoughts with someone else. Especially considering that the only words they seemed to share of late were sharp as daggers in the dark and usually resulted in him sleeping with little more than a scrap of quilt to cover his hide.

Was _this_ what being married was really all about? The priest had said all kinds of flowery words about love and eternal companionship strong enough to survive even the roughest of hardships, and damn him to Oblivion if he didn't love the woman, but he didn't know how much more tension he could stomach. Until Ginna, the bulk of his romantic endeavors had been short-lived, at best, and certainly never long enough to inspire any kind of thoughts of an eternity with the other person. The only married people he'd ever intimately acquainted with had been his parents, and that had been so long ago sometimes all he could remember was the two of them bickering in hushed voices that, try as they might to hide them, still echoed through the cavernous Cistern as though they were shouting at one another.

_Gods_, he felt his stomach clench and tighten. This really was what being married was all about. Learning to control your temper whenever your spouse was being ridiculous and going on loving them even when you wanted to strangle them.

"Right," she agreed with a curt nod. "We'll talk to Karliah, tell her about the dream, about Brutus. Maybe she can summon Nocturnal for confirmation, or something."

"We don't even know if Karliah will be here, lass, and she made it pretty clear the last time we saw her she had no desire to face Nocturnal right now. It's why you got stuck with the blasted Skeleton Key in the first place."

When they'd parted ways with their fellow Nightingale after disposing of Mercer Frey, Karliah had only said she'd be in touch at some point. She'd given no indication of where she was going, but Ginna seemed rather sure of herself when she reached for the handle on the old wooden door of Nightingale Hall and turned the knob.

"She's here," she said over her shoulder.

The torches that lit the entryway seemed to partially confirm Ginna's assumption: someone was there. He edged in a little closer to her back and reached a hand out to rest on her shoulder. "Look, Ginna, even if she is here, I don't know what you're hoping to accomplish with this. They Key has to be returned to the Twilight Sepulcher, or what little luck we've had these last few weeks is going to fade until there's nothing left for any of us at all."

"I know you don't believe me," she sighed, turning into him and lifting her sharp blue eyes to his. "I wouldn't believe me either, but if you had been there, Brynjolf, if you had heard the things Nocturnal said to me, you would have doubts too. I know you would."

"The only doubts I have right now revolve around the fact that we held onto that Key too long. If we had gone straight to the Twilight Sepulcher to return it, none of this would be happening now."

"This is about more than just returning the Key."

"You don't think Mercer told himself that every time the voice of reason tried to claw into that thick brain of his?" Still with his hand on her shoulder, he let his fingers burrow softly into the tension gripping her muscles. "Imagine all the lies to told himself just to hold onto that power, Ginna, and then think about all the people who died because he couldn't let it go. You were damn near one of them yourself, lass."

"This is different, Brynjolf. Mercer took the key without Nocturnal's blessing. She gave me her blessing."

"In a dream!" He didn't realize how hard his fingers were pressing into her skin until she start to struggle out of his grip. "How many times do you imagine Mercer told himself he had Nocturnal's blessing."

"Maybe he did have her blessing," she muttered, wrenching out of his grasp.

"Do you even hear yourself?"

"To even suggest we understand Nocturnal's will is absurd. Severus told me stories when I was a girl about the Cowl of the Grey Fox, about how Nocturnal cursed any who dared to don her cowl to disappear completely. If a thief put it on, not even his own mother would remember giving birth to him. And yet…" she paused a moment, as if searching for the right words to day. "And yet, there are other stories still that claim it was a gift from Nocturnal herself, the ultimate prize for one of our trade. He could walk into the Emperor's Palace and steal the crown right off his head and no one would ever be the wiser."

He felt his nostrils flare as he inhaled through his nose, the frustration of anger bubbling inside him like a cauldron over a high flame. "They're just stories, lass."

"Maybe so, but until a couple of months ago we thought the Nightingales were just a myth and here we are." She held up her arms, a smug smile turning her lips ever-so-slightly upward. "In Nightingale Hall, both of us sworn to serve Our Lady of Shadows until our contract with her expires."

Damn her, if she wasn't right about that, but it didn't mean she was right about Nocturnal wanting her to use the Skeleton Key. He hoped she was right about Karliah actually being there because someone needed to talk some sense into her; clearly that someone wasn't him.

He shouldered past her and grabbed one of the torches from the wall, continuing down the winding stone corridor until he came to the common room. Nightingale Hall looked different than it had the first time they'd come there, more lived in, and much of the stifling musty smell that overpowered the senses during their last visit seemed to have been replaced by spice and alchemy reagents. There was a small alchemist's station, a bubbling tube of poison steaming over the fire and sitting almost casually on the bed with an open book in her lap was Karliah.

As the woman lifted her gaze to them, Brynjolf had to look away to keep the overpowering emotion of his own twisted dreams from rubbing him the wrong way. Guilt ate away at his insides, and he hung back when Ginna moved forward to meet her.

"My fellow Nightingales," Karliah said, lowering her long legs over the edge of the bed and slipping her bare feet into a worn pair of leather slippers. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?" She leaned into Ginna's eager embrace, a gentle smile lighting up her whole face when she drew back. "Have you returned the Key?"

"No," Ginna shook her head almost shamefully, some of the enthusiasm fading from her presence. "Not yet. We were setting out tomorrow to do so, but then something came up."

"Several things, actually," Brynjolf corrected, crossing his arms over his chest and ignoring the stern glance Ginna threw in his direction. "It would seem my wife has been communing with Nocturnal and she's got it into that pretty little head of hers that our Lady wants her to use the Skeleton Key."

"He makes it sound so sinister and trivial." Ginna turned back to Karliah. "The Guild in Cyrodiil is gone, burned to the ground along with everyone in it except for Brutus Arenicci."

"Shadows take him," Karliah spat over her shoulder, as if casting off a curse. "I'm so sorry, Ginna. To lose one's family…" her voice trailed off for a moment, as if recalling how quickly her own family had up and turned their backs on her. "You must be distraught."

"You'd think so," Brynjolf interjected quietly.

"I am distraught," she said, more to Karliah than him, but she turned another look toward him, a softer look, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Ginna wasn't one to shed a tear without reason, but when she had a reason it took a lot to actually pull the emotion out of her. "And so confused, Karliah. I've had dreams of late, before this news from Cyrodiil."

Tilting her head, the Dunmer lifted a hand to Ginna's shoulder and began to walk her toward a small wooden table to sit down. Brynjolf preferred to stand, but moved in to hover near the edge of the table, arms still crossed.

"What kind of dreams?" Karliah asked.

"At first it was only birds, hundreds of them, thousands whispering my name and spreading like a shadowed cloak across the sun until all the world was darkness."

Brynjolf took another step forward. She hadn't told him that part of the dream, not that it made her assumption about Nocturnal's will any truer.

"And then she brought me here, to Nightingale Hall, and I was standing at the altar in the place you stood when we swore our oath to her. She spoke to me, wanted to know why, if I hadn't returned her Key to the Twilight Sepulcher, I hadn't used it either to further my own gain. When I told her I didn't wish to walk the Pilgrim's Path alone, she laughed and said I shamed myself, that to don her sigil and walk in shadows was to walk alone, both in life and in death."

He watched Karliah's face, even as he listened to Ginna share another part of herself with someone else, a part she hadn't fully shared with him. Karliah's expression didn't tell him much. She was listening intently, her eyes narrowing into two gleaming lavender slits as she tried to discern meaning.

"Was there more, Ginna?"

Ginna nodded. "She said she was disappointed in my hesitation to serve her, but that it was not the Pilgrim's Path she wanted me to walk at this time. She wants revenge."

"Revenge?" Brynjolf repeated that word, the doubt in his tone an indirect slap in the face that actually made her wince a little. "It sounds more like the inane ramblings of Boethiah or Molag Bal." He didn't know much about the so-called Daedric Princes; Daedric worship really had no place in a thief's repertoire of tools, or so he'd thought before he'd taken the oath to serve Nocturnal. Even still, something about the whole thing felt off, and unless Nocturnal herself made an appearance to confirm what Ginna was saying, he simply couldn't put his stock in dreams. No matter how real that blade had felt in his hand, how warm Karliah's blood had felt spilling onto his skin when he'd twisted it deep into her belly.

"I questioned her too," she assured him, drawing him from that dark, terrifying place his mind had wandered to in a matter of seconds. "And when I asked how I could help her, she asked that I carry out her sentence on the fool I once called brother because he was plotting to steal her Cowl from the Evergloam and in order to do that he would need the Skeleton Key. She said the Key was not safe in the Twilight Sepulcher as long as it opened the gateway to her realm and then she told me to use it, in her name and with her blessing, to restore the Guild and embrace my role as a Nightingale, for when the time comes to face him, I will need the blessing of her strength and power to defeat him."

"I don't know what enchantments that Key possesses, but it's damn good at getting inside and discovering that which we obviously desire." Brynjolf's words seemed to move right through him, and for a moment it was as if he were a ghost in that stone room.

He watched as Karliah's hand moved out to rest atop Ginna's, fingers curling around and gently squeezing. "You're right about that much, Brynjolf," she finally lifted her eyes to him; they were serious and so sad he could barely hold her gaze longer than a second or two. "The Key does know what we want. It senses our desires and aligns us with the path we need to take in order to achieve them, and what Ginna wants right now more than anything, I'd suspect, is to avenge the murder of her Guildfather and punish the man who betrayed her."

"You see, lass," he said almost smugly. "It's the Key messing with your mind. It wasn't a visitation from Nocturnal."

"Or maybe it was," Karliah shook her head with uncertainty and Brynjolf felt a tightness in his chest. "Our mistress works in mysterious ways, and to believe for even a moment we understand her will is utter folly. There is only one way to find out if what Ginna dreamed was true."

The hope in her voice was almost childlike when she asked, "Can you summon her?"

"One does not generally summon Our Lady of Shadows, Ginna," Karliah said gently. "If Nocturnal wishes an audience with you, she seeks you out on her own terms, but this sounds too serious to ignore."

It was Ginna's turn to cast another smirking gaze in his direction, and Brynjolf muttered a curse under his breath. If it turned out the lass was actually onto something, there'd be no living with her.

"Did you bring the Key?"

"No…" Brynjolf started to say, but Ginna interrupted and said, "Yes," lifting her satchel onto the table and unbuckling the pouch strap. He hadn't even seen her grab the Key before they left and for a moment his anger enmeshed with a series of chills he couldn't shake off. It was that feeling his father used to describe as someone walking over his grave, and in that moment Brynjolf had a sinking feeling in his gut that all three of them were as good as dead already… just like Mercer Frey.


	6. Chapter 6

The three of them took their prospective stances within the triad branching out from the main circle, and while Karliah called upon Nocturnal, Ginna felt her gaze shifting left over her shoulder, in Brynjolf's direction. She wished she could see his face, or know what he was thinking. He'd been so passive-aggressive about everything since she'd told him she thought Nocturnal wanted her to use the Key, but could she really blame him? After everything Mercer put them all through, that key should have been locked up and never touched again. Forgotten before it could wreak havoc in anyone else's life.

He hadn't said much to her while they were changing into their Nightingale armor, and when she'd tried to make a point of eye contact with him, he'd actually given her the cold shoulder. Stalking toward Karliah, he'd said nothing more than, "Let's get this over with, lass. I've got important things that need taking care of, and the sooner I can get back to them, the better."

Important things that had held them apart more than brought them together of late. Had they made a mistake in getting married so soon? It hadn't felt like that at the time, but the tension between them was beginning to suggest otherwise. All that time she'd been blaming the Skeleton Key, but what if the tension had nothing to do with Nocturnal? What if they just weren't meant to be?

Gods, that thought made it hard for her to breathe. That alone should have been indication of how stupid she was being. Of course she and Brynjolf were meant to be together, if for no other reason in the world than that no one else in all of Nirn would have tolerated either one of them.

Glancing back toward the center of the altar, Ginna kept waiting for the air to stiffen the way it had done last time, for the electricity to sharpen and crackle until she could feel it in her blood and bones, but nothing happened.

"Mistress of Shadows, we seek your council, please grace us with your presence," Karliah pleaded, her tone unyielding in its faith and devotion.

Ginna could feel eyes on her, boring into her soul and when she turned her head left again she saw Brynjolf staring straight at her through the shadowed openings in his mask. She imagined that beneath the hood, he was smirking at her; his silent eyes seemed to carry the words, _I told you so_, straight into her mind. Even knowing firsthand the Gods and Daedric Princes were real did very little to foster faith in him. Anything that required him to bend the knee was a waste of time. Pomp and ceremony, he hated it all and she knew that, but for once couldn't he just humor her? Support her and make her feel like he was on her side? She knew what she was feeling, what she'd experienced in those dreams. All she needed was confirmation.

Waiting in the silence for an answer to her call, Karliah's uplifted arms didn't waver, her eyes did not drift from the apex and seeing her absolute devotion, Ginna felt a little foolish. A part of her hadn't believed Nocturnal would answer, and maybe that was why she hadn't come.

"Lady Nocturnal," she turned toward the center and lowered onto her knees, cutting Karliah off before she could begin another round of petitioning. "I seek not just your council, but confirmation of your will. In the shadows of my dreams you came to me, your humble servant, and bid me to use the Skeleton Key to not only assist you, but to further my own gain. Please, lady, all I ask is for you to tell me here, before my fellow Nightingales, what it is you want me to do."

Nothing… Only the constant drip and splash of water trickling to the floor behind the altar, the distant wail of the wind through the caverns of that hollow space, and then she felt it when she drew a breath in preparation of the sigh about to deflate her chest. She could smell the air thickening with ozone and electricity, the properties of everything around her shifting to accommodate the shadows as they gathered and swarmed together in a slow swirl of rich blue light writhing to life on the altar.

Before she could finish manifesting, Ginna lowered her arms in reverence, her heart thundering so hard her eardrums felt like they might explode.

"What is the meaning of this summons?" Her voice echoed through the chamber like a thousand bad dreams, the constant chatter of birds at its back, lifting it, lifting her presence into their world until she hovered above the symbol on the floor, a mesmerizing ball of blue and black light pulsating with otherworldly energy. "Have I not given you a task, Nightingale? Why do you bother me when there is work to be done?"

"The terms of your request are uncertain, Lady," Karliah spoke on her behalf. "You asked us to return the key, but now you want us to use it? We only seek clarity, my lady. Enlightenment so that we might carry out your wishes as you see fit."

"Clarity?" Her rich laughter reverberated through the chamber. "Enlightenment? Am I not the Daedric Prince of Darkness? The Queen of Murk and Shadow? What use have I for clarity, Karliah? Honestly, I thought you, of all people, would know me better than that by now."

"Please, Lady Nocturnal," Ginna intervened. "It was not Karliah's idea to summon you. It was mine. I am new to your service and do not trust myself, not since I've had the Key in my possession. To dream you want me to use it after you expressly instructed us to restore balance and return it to the Twilight Sepulcher seems well in line with the Key's powers of persuasion, and not something you would actually want me to do."

"You don't know me very well yet, do you?" the shadowed light mused. "I choose my allies wisely, and after Karliah spoke to me of the vengeance burning in her heart for Mercer Frey, I found myself longing to play a little game. A game of vengeance and betrayal, punishment and due, and who better to serve me in this game than the three of you, my most humble servants and protectors."

"I didn't sign on for this to play games at your whim." Brynjolf's protest echoed across the vast space between them and Ginna actually felt the focus of Nocturnal's shadowy attention shift toward him.

"The fire-hearted Nord speaks at last," she made a sound, like a tongue clucking against the roof of a mouth. "I wondered how long you were just going to stand around and allow life's whims to move you where they would without a fight. You like to play the victim, you always have, but you're one of mine now, and I do not suffer victims. Nevertheless, you swore yourself to my service, Brynjolf of Riften, and you will play whatever games I see fit for you to play." Ginna swore she saw him flinch a little, as if those words had stung him. Her disembodied focus rolled once more, drifting across the cavern until Ginna could feel it pulsing in her direction. "All three of you will play my games and see them through until the end."

Karliah's soft voice filled the void of sound that followed that admission. "What would you have us do, Lady Nocturnal?"

"Use the Key," she said. "Restore your Guild, fill your chests and coffers with as much wealth as you can. Grow rich and powerful until all who encounter you envy and fear you completely. Feed from the well of power, discover your potential and grow strong. Become one with me, align yourselves with me and when the time comes stand and fight for me against the one who seeks to betray me. _That_ is what I would have you do." She was silent for a moment, almost as if she were willing one of them to deny her order. The thick air roiled with electricity, and beneath her armor Ginna could feel every hair on her body standing at attention. And then she asked, "Is this something you can do, or do I need to find another triad to serve me?"

"We are your humble servants, Lady," Ginna spoke up before Karliah could. "We will do whatever you ask of us."

"Good, now if that's all, I have important business that requires my attention. Do not summon me again to satisfy your petty curiosities, or you will all be sorry you disturbed me. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Lady Nocturnal."

Just as quickly as she'd come, she disappeared with a pop and a rush, but the electric heaviness in the room did not abate. From the corner of her eye, she saw Brynjolf leaving the platform, walking down the long aisle until he arrived on the altar where only moments before Nocturnal had hovered. Karliah joined him, but Ginna wasn't ready yet. Her feet felt both light and heavy where she stood. She looked down at the two of them and tried to imagine what they were thinking, how soon it would be before Brynjolf's acceptance for Nocturnal's will turned to sarcasm aimed at his wife.

Finally gathering herself, she picked up her feet and started down the ramp, meeting with them in the center and looking between the two of them.

"I can't believe she actually wants us to use the Key," Karliah murmured. "Come into the common room and tell me about your dream again while I make us all a cup of tea."

"We'll join you in a minute, lass," Brynjolf said.

Reaching up to remove her hood, Karliah looked between the two of them and nodded agreement before slowly walking out. Brynjolf waited until she was little more than a shadow cast upon the wall outside the ceremonial chamber before he reached out and curled his fingers around Ginna's upper arm. With the other hand, he lifted the hood away from her face and brushed the hair off of her cheek.

"It seems I owe you an apology, love," he began. Those fingers squeezed gently, before reaching up to draw her gaze upward when she started to look away. "I should have listened to you," he went on. "Taken your concerns more seriously. I'm a terrible husband."

"Don't say that." The edges of her mouth twitched in protest of the smile she tried to hide from him, but something about him saying those words terrified her. Sometimes she still had a really hard time believing her luck when it came to Brynjolf, even on the days they did nothing but bicker and turn their backs on each other in bed.

"It's true, I'm awful at this whole being married to someone else thing," he admitted. "I keep ridiculous hours, leave you sitting at home alone with Marcurio until all hours of the night, send you off traveling with other men. And Talos strike me where I stand, but I'm guilty of being a little glad when a job comes up that takes you away for a day or two because then I don't feel so pressured to rush home every night and make sure you're not upset with me for spending so much time trying to get our Guild back on its feet."

Stepping back, she shrugged out of his grip as her hackles immediately went up. "You're actually happy when I go away?"

"Not happy, no," he shook his head. "I guess that was a stupid way of saying all the tension between us has made everything really difficult lately. See," he paused for a moment. "What kind of husband would say something like that?"

"Apparently, a really bad one," she snarked. "Do you not want to be married to me anymore, Bryn?"

"Of course I do, lass. You're the only good thing that's ever happened in my life. Shor's bones, how could you even ask me that?"

"I don't know, I just thought…"

He reached for her again and drew her into his chest, tilting his head to look down into her eyes. A lock of hair fell across his face, curtaining his gaze until she reached up and moved it away. She loved looking into his eyes; they were green as the sea and whenever that impish grin of his made an appearance they shone with the most incredible light. Gods, she loved him so much it made her legs weak and wobbly whenever he was near her like that—and yet every minute they were together they were at odds. How could that even be?

"I've never wanted to spend every waking moment of my day with anyone before. Frankly, lass, most people get on my last nerve after about five minutes, but you…" Shaking his head, the rogue hair she'd just pushed away fell back into place and she snorted a laugh. "Since the day we met, I've wanted to be with you all the time. From dawn 'til dusk, every minute of every hour, and when you're not with me there's this big, aching emptiness right here." Reaching for her hand, he lifted it over the left side of his leather breastplate and held it there. "I thought life was going to get easier after we took care of Mercer."

"It hasn't, has it?"

"No, it's gotten harder. We're always on edge, always at each other's throats about this unimportant thing or that. It's like we skipped through all those years of wedded bliss you're always hearing couples talk about and we've turned straight into some ornery old codger and his spiteful wife taking snipes at each other just for kicks."

Most men Ginna had known throughout her life would never have talked so openly about their emotions, but that was one thing she could always count on when it came to Brynjolf. It was one of the reasons she'd fallen in love with him in the first place. Everything was on the table, but he was right. Lately they'd barely even had time to make eye contact, much less appreciate the newness of their relationship.

"I don't want our life to be like this, Ginna," he reached up and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding her in place so she couldn't look away. "I don't like the sound of you sighing before you roll over in bed and turn your back to me, and I hate the cold nights even worse."

"Oh Bryn."

He lowered his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. "I want to be partners, just like we said, in every aspect of our life together."

"Then we have to do it together," she pointed out. "Not you sitting neck-deep in paperwork in the belly of the Cistern while I'm out running jobs for Vex and Delvin Rune like some lackey. I know I'm not the Guildmaster yet, but one day we will share that honor together. Why don't we start sharing all its responsibilities now? Really make the life we want for ourselves, Brynjolf?"

"All right," he agreed. "Let's do it then."

"And as much as I hate to say I told you so, it looks like we're going to have a little help from Nocturnal to make all that happen," she pointed out. "We've got the Skeleton Key and all its perks on our side. We're going to be unstoppable."

She watched the dimple in his cheek deepen as he grinned. "You didn't hate to say that."

"No," she laughed. "I didn't."

"Do you forgive me for being the worst husband the world had to offer you?"

"Only if you forgive me for the being the worst wife for making you sleep in an ice box every night these last few weeks."

He leaned down and kissed her, mouth opening against hers as his arm slid down the length of her back to sweep her closer. And when she was in his arms, all of her doubts and fears, all of the worry that maybe they weren't really meant to be melted away and she felt like a fool for even doubting that Brynjolf was exactly where she was supposed to be.


	7. Chapter 7

Brynjolf was not having the best of days. In fact, it was probably the most bizarre day he'd ever had in his life, if he didn't count the day he'd stood before Nocturnal and sworn an oath to serve her for the rest of his days.

He and Ginna had been at Nightingale Hall with Karliah until well after three in the morning discussing the Mistress of Shadows odd request, and when they'd finally returned home around three-thirty to find Rune asleep in the chair it was another hour before they had the house to themselves. And of course, because they'd been so cold and distant to one another of late before drifting off to sleep, he'd thought it was important to cement everything he'd said to his wife with more than just a little kiss goodnight.

Sex always alleviated the constant tension that seemed ever-present in their lives, relaxing them into light, but serious conversation, both of which he'd missed more than he could possibly express to her. They talked about Rune and Nocturnal, and most disturbing were the few things she'd muttered to him about the Skeleton Key. The strange power she could so obviously feel whenever she held it in her hand–as if it chose her and wanted her to do the most amazing things. That thing was a bloody curse, and he had no idea how they were going to survive using it until Nocturnal's will was done.

Before he knew it he was propped up on his elbow above her and watching as the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on drifted off to sleep beneath the soft rays of sunlight filtering through the window.

Everything about their fast-paced relationship had been fire and tension from the start, and he just kept telling himself it had to slow down at some point. He'd never thought he'd settle down, find a woman who held his interest long enough for him to ask for her hand, but Ginna never ceased to awe and inspire him. He actually wanted to stop and savor every moment of their life, put babies in her belly and watch her swell with the life they created together. Most days those simple pleasures felt like insurmountable impossibilities, even if he did believe all the way down to the very depths of his soul that they could do anything as long as they were together. Sometimes it just felt like he was asking too much from the gods in asking for a moment's peace to enjoy her.

He loved touching her when she was sleeping, tracing the tip of his finger along the curve of her full, almost pouty lips, down the dip of her adorable chin and back up the strong line of her jaw before tucking the rogue strands of her golden hair behind her delicate ear. Even in her sleep she nuzzled into his touch, murmuring something unintelligible before rolling into him and lifting her calf to rest atop his.

Laying his head down on the pillow in front of hers, he tried to sleep, but sleep never came.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw himself running his blade through Karliah and startled himself out of the grip of that dream before it could reclaim him. He'd been blaming it on the Skeleton Key, a part of him still convinced its presence was tapping into some dark side of him he didn't want to believe was there. He was not a killer. He didn't even like to get his hands dirty if he didn't have to.

Nocturnal's taunts still circled in his mind. He would play whatever game she designed for him, whether he liked it or not.

He did not like it.

After hours of tossing and turning in the bed, he finally threw the blankets off and stepped into the soft black leather pants puddled beside the bed. After tugging them up around his hips, he sat down and slipped his boots on before leaning over to grab the jacket of his Guildmaster's armor from the back of the chair.

Kneeling to kiss her forehead, the tips of his long red hair tickled her cheeks and she reached up to swat at them before rolling away and drawing the quilt up around her neck.

She'd told him to wake her when he got up, but she hadn't slept much lately either and he didn't want to take that moment's worth of peace away from her too quickly.

He figured he was only going to be gone an hour and she'd never even know he'd left, but then he got caught up in the street listening to the buzz and gossip about Grelod the Kind. Seems someone murdered the old hag right in her bed while the children over at Honorhall slept. Just when he thought he was finally going to get down to business, he'd had the most bizarre confrontation with a ghost in the cemetery leading into the crypt on his way to the cistern. A ghost that had cost his Guild almost as much as Mercer had.

The gods were definitely testing both his patience and his nonchalant belief in the supernatural.

Then Ginna's bloody magic-wielding mercenary friend had gotten involved, knocking him most embarrassingly on his backside with a blast of shock magic so strong he could still feel its repercussions thumping in his veins. It hadn't won him over if that was Marcurio's game, that was for sure, but it had confirmed some of Ginna's assurances that the lad was a lot more powerful than he looked.

He did not like that either. Any of it.

"I don't know, Bryn, maybe it was just a coincidence," Delvin Mallory proposed, tipping back the last swish of ale resting at the bottom of his mug and holding it in his mouth for a moment before loudly gulping it down. "All kinds of people look like other people. And all those elf-types look alike, if you ask me."

Vipir's lip twitched as if he were about to say something, but Vex was sniping on Delvin before he even had a chance to open his mouth. "Oh for shit's sake, Delvin, that's gotta be the most racist gods damned thing you've ever said."

"What? They all look the same with their pointy ears and strange eyes… Not to mention how they all have to go for those uppity hairstyles. I mean who wears their hair that way on purpose?"

Brynjolf rolled his eyes and looked across the table at Vipir again as Vex went into another tirade against Delvin, cocking her fist back in a threat when he asked, "When did you grow such a soft spot for Merfolk?"

Sometimes he wished the two of them would just sleep together and get it over with already. They'd been at the game for years, and Delvin never made it secret that he was up to the very challenge of their little firebrand. Vex seemed to be the only one who couldn't see it.

Shifting his gaze across the table, his thoughts moved with it. He wondered how Vipir was holding up. He hadn't exactly been fond of Grelod the Kind, but she'd still had a hand in raising him after his mother died, and all that talk about Anariel, the dead thane of Riften, probably wasn't making things in his mind any quieter. That horror had ruined the only good thing he'd ever had going for him. Well, Brynjolf supposed only half of that was true. There were things Vipir could have done before it all went down to set things right, but he'd kept putting them off.

"You all right, lad? You been quiet."

Vipir raised his sad, dark eyes and shrugged it off. "It's a good thing I wasn't there. I would have killed her on sight and I don't think I could handle another year behind bars."

The ghost thane in question had lost the Guild one of the biggest heists they would have ever pulled off, nearly getting Brynjolf killed during his escape and landing Vipir in prison. It had been the hardest year of the man's life, damaging his credibility with clients and costing him the only woman he'd ever loved. In retrospect, maybe at least some of it had been Mercer's fault.

Either way, no one ever spoke of it.

"It just doesn't make sense," he went on in that deep, quiet voice of his. "I spit on her grave every time I come into the cistern. Twice if I'm feeling especially lucky."

"Aye," Brynjolf agreed, lifting his flagon. It was a ritual he practiced as well, a bit of good luck he liked to tell himself. "Now you'll have two graves to spit on, thanks to whoever killed Grelod."

"Do you think the two are connected somehow?" Vipir contemplated. "It seems like an awful strange coincidence, that bitch showing her face here the morning of Grelod's murder."

"Aye, it does."

"Maybe we should nab the mage and drag him out into the woods for questioning," Vipir suggested, his thick eyebrows lifting suggestively. "Find out what his game is before it gets out of hand."

Brynjolf hadn't even heard her come in, she was that stealthy, and he swore the woman had ears like a bat because she answered Vipir's suggestion from halfway across the Ragged Flagon with a tight-lipped warning that actually made Brynjolf feel guilty for quietly agreeing with Vipir. "Maybe you should just leave Marcurio alone." And then she turned her crystal blue eyes down to meet his. "I asked you to wake me up before you left."

"I know, I'm sorry, Ginna." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, ignoring Vipir's sneering grin, which was followed by a palmed cough he swore was a cleverly disguised exclamation of the word _whipped_.

Ginna was not amused, judging from the narrow glare of her gaze in her fellow pickpocket's direction.

"Does anyone else ever do any work in this Guild?" She glanced around at the four of them, leisurely clutching tankards as if they didn't have a care in the world. "I mean, for a bunch of people in such a bad way, it just seems like no one's making much of an effort to turn our luck around."

Not a one of them met her eyes except for Delvin, who spoke up almost casually. Ginna had a soft spot for the old codger and he knew it, took advantage of it every chance he got, too. "I'll have you know I just got back from Whiterun this morning, pet. Had a meeting with a very important potential client."

"Good," she nodded and crossed her arms. "More important clients means were getting closer to getting this Guild back on its feet. Vex, I'm heading up to Solitude. We got any jobs in need of doing up there?"

"Only the one I just gave Brynjolf. Rune did a real number on the place while he was up there, and there hasn't been much coming in these last couple weeks."

She turned a surprised look in his direction, as if she couldn't believe he'd actually taken a job. He chuckled, pushing away from the table. "Come on, lass. I'll give you the details on the road."

"You two be careful out there," Delvin called as Brynjolf lowered an arm across her back and ushered her toward the secret panel she'd come through just moments before. "Try to stay on Erikur's good side. It took a lot for me to convince him you were the best person for this job, Ginna. Don't make me look bad in front of him."

"I'll try not to poison or seduce him this time," she winked and grinned at Delvin, the sound of the old thief's laughter seeing them out of the Flagon.

She waited until they were outside to ask him what had happened with the mage. He'd been trying to come up with a logical explanation for it since it took place, but there wasn't one. Nothing about any of it made sense at all. He'd never seen Anariel's body, so maybe celebrations after news of her death had been premature. On the other hand Marcurio had certainly put on a convincing enough show after the funeral rites. He'd never seen a man more broken in his life, and though he'd never admit it to anyone, a part of him actually felt sorry for the lad.

"Marcurio stopped by on his way out of town," she said, an inflection in her voice meant to suggest it was his fault the coward had skipped out. "He said the two of you got into it over here in the cemetery."

"He's got a lot of nerve," he muttered, more to himself than her. "I should have known he'd run to you for protection like some kind of milk-drinker."

"He didn't come to me for protection, just to say goodbye. I guess he's got some important job up in Dawnstar or something. And that term is just so stupid," she rolled her eyes. "Milk-drinker. Is that supposed to be insulting because I like milk, you know? Who thought that up, anyway?"

"Big strong Nord men with a healthy appetite for mead." He laughed and squeezed her body closer to his as they walked. "It's probably better if he's not around for a spell. I don't know if Vipir can hold himself back."

"I thought his beef was with you. What did he do to Vipir?"

"It's a long story, lass," he sighed. "One that'll pass some time while we travel. It's a long road to Solitude, even by horse."

"Yes it is," she agreed. "And we've wasted enough of this day. Let's get on the road."

It was well after two before they left Riften, reaching the edge of the southern mountain pass between Falkreath and the Rift before he'd finished telling her the tale of Anariel, Thane of Riften and destroyer of all good things.

"Poor Marcurio," she muttered, shaking the flakes of snow from her hair. "Poor Vipir."

"Poor me," he reminded her. "I almost died trying to escape."

"My poor baby," she grinned over at him.

The weather had quickly shifted as they passed into Falkreath, the feathery flakes of snow that followed them through the southern tip of the Rift soon becoming a blizzard they could barely see through once the sun started to set. That kind of storm never failed to bring the trolls out in droves, and he'd never fancied fighting those bastards after dark.

He was just about to suggest they stop and set up camp when Ginna pointed to a quiet cottage nestled just within a patch of firs that lined the edge of the road. She dug her heels into her steed and galloped faster, not stopping until she reached the cottage.

"I think we should stay here for the night."

"Ginna," he started to protest, watching as she rifled through her pack and drew out the Skeleton Key before sliding off her horse and tethering it to the tree. She was already picking the lock with the accursed thing by the time he climbed down and was turning the knob in her hand to push open the door just as he reached her back. "We can't stay here. Let's just set up camp…"

"We can stay here," she assured him with an impish smile. "The owners are gone. They won't be back for weeks."

"What?" he wrinkled his brow. "Do you know these people?"

"Nope," she shrugged.

"Then how in Oblivion can you possibly know they won't be back for weeks, lass?"

"The Key told me," she said as casually as one might say the sky was blue or the snow was white, pushing the door all the way open and trespassing across the threshold.

Brynjolf lingered on the doorstep, trying to process what she'd just said, but no matter how hard he tried it just didn't make sense. Finally, he picked up his feet and followed her into the empty cottage, closing the door at his back. "The Skeleton Key spoke to you?"

Shor's bones, could this day possibly get any weirder? Nocturnal recruiting them for some bizarre game he'd rather not play, the haunt of his own murderous dreams, Grelod murdered, the ghost in the cemetery and now this? He just wanted a blessed break from the madness already.

"Aye," she knelt down in front of the hearth and went to work kindling a fire there.

"As in, that crazy metal lockpick has a voice all its own," he crossed his arms, adding, "and you can hear it?"

"Sort of," she shrugged again, conjuring what little fire magic she possessed until the dry bits of kindling took spark. "I get these hunches sometimes," she went on. "Ever since I took the Key from Mercer, it's like there's this little voice in my head telling me exactly how to get everything I want. Which things are worth stealing, which places are safe to stay in, whose pockets have the most valuables."

"Okay…" Normally when people heard voices, they were either in touch with the gods or they'd been touched by the Daedra. Nocturnal had definitely touched his wife, and oath or not, he didn't like it. "Do you have any idea how that sounds, lass?"

"Yes," she said softly, leaning back to stare at the fire as it gathered air and momentum, its warmth spilling into the cold, damp cottage until he could feel it drying the air. "Do you think it spoke to Mercer like that?"

"I don't know," he murmured, walking toward the small table on the other side of the fireplace and pulling out a chair to sit down. "I know it drove Mercer mad."

"Maybe Mercer was always mad." Still hunkering down in front of the hearth, she turned her head to look at him. "Maybe I was always mad."

"You're not mad," he told her, his mind immediately rushing through the madness of his own dreams of late. "No more mad than I."

"Don't you ever hear it?" she asked. "The Skeleton Key, I mean?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "It doesn't speak to me, not with a voice anyway, but I know when it's there, when it's inside my head messing with my mind." _Pushing me into some murderous rage I can't control._

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," he said again. "I don't know how to explain it. I just feel it sometimes, its pull, its darkness."

"It _is_ darkness," she shuddered, he watched the chill move straight through her as she turned back toward the hearth. "Pure evil. I think if it could, it would turn us all against each other," she murmured. "Tear us all apart."

An uneasy laugh caught in his throat, scraping free and disrupting the strange silence of that place. It was as if the Key itself was listening to them, reveling in their every fear.

"Then why are we using it, Ginna?"

"Because we have to." Could it really be that simple? "We are sworn to her service, and she has given us her orders. A Nightingale does not simply say no to Nocturnal."

He swore under his breath, lowering the edge of his forearm onto the table and leaning his forehead into his hand. His fingers spidered through his loose hair, crawling along his scalp as the strands dropped back in to rest against his face. He'd left her alone too often after they'd taken care of Mercer, hadn't listened carefully enough on the rare occasion they actually communicated without raised voices. Even when she'd tried to tell him what was going on, he'd refused to listen. How could he have not seen this happening to her?

He knew how. He'd been too wrapped up in his own selfish fears.

Without a word, Ginna rose from where she'd crouched and came over to stand behind him. She rested her grip on his shoulder and then began working the tension from his muscles with both hands. "You're scared, Bryn. I know you are. I'm scared too, but…"

"But what? He leaned his back into her, rested his head against her chest and lifted his gaze to meet hers. "I don't get scared, lass, and on the rare occasion I do it's because I've got good reason. Whatever game Nocturnal's playing, we shouldn't have any part in it."

"We took an oath, Bryn."

"Damn the oath."

"She will reward us for seeing her will done," she murmured, lowering herself to kiss him, her voice whispering across his lips as she spoke. "Everything we want is just a turn of her Key away. More than just that house in Markarth," she said. "A house in every hold. More gold than we could ever spend in a single lifetime." Before he'd met Ginna, he'd wanted all those things and more, but something about being with her had changed him. He wanted stability, not more risk. She kissed him again, her soft tone almost soothing him. "Jewels, Brynjolf. So many jewels." She'd always had a soft spot for the shiny bits. "We could retire from all this, for real. All we have to do is embrace the power she's given us and see this through."

The breath he drew in was heavy, he could feel it swelling so painfully inside his lungs that even when he exhaled the anxiety was still there. "At what price, Gin?" he asked. "Our lives? The only retirement for a thief is death, and you know it. We all talk about doing it, but there's always one more job, one more heist, one more pocket you can't keep your hand out of. That's what scares me about that damn Key, about Nocturnal and what she wants from us. There will always be just one more thing she needs from you, just one more thing you have to get your hands on, and if there's not, that's the end."

As if she hadn't even heard what he'd said, she went on. "Through her I can make him pay for everything he did to me, to our father." The gleam for riches was gone from her eyes, replaced with an insatiable hunger for vengeance unlike any he'd ever seen. In the short time they'd been together, he'd seen her hurt, distraught, angry and fueled by the need to punish Mercer for the things he'd done—not just to her, but to the Guild. Her longing for revenge against Brutus Arenicci was well-deserved, but that lust was different; it was ten times darker and all-consuming. She whimpered the man's name in her sleep sometimes, and those desperate, sorrowful murmurs had only grown more frequent since they'd taken the Key.

That was what scared him most; Nocturnal seemed to know exactly how to pull her strings, how to draw her in deeper than she already had with promises of a payback sweeter than the reward of any job she'd ever taken on in her life.

"I just don't want to lose our heads in all of this, love," he told her. Lifting a hand to stroke her face, he held her close, a part of him so afraid he'd already lost more of her than he could spare.

She nestled her cheek against his and kissed him. "We won't," she promised, but he just couldn't believe it would be that simple. "That bed looks awful cozy." She gestured her head across the room. "I'm so tired I could sleep for a week. Come on," she drew back and tugged his hand. "Let's go to bed."

The worst part of it all? Since the moment he'd met her, he couldn't say no to her. He rose with a half-smile, troubles momentarily forgotten as they fell into a stranger's bed together and made love like two kids who'd just discovered one another.


	8. Chapter 8

Ginna should have been nervous walking through the gates of Solitude, considering it had only been a handful of months since she'd poisoned and seduced Erikur, Thane of Solitude. That had been the night her own Guildbrother made his betrayal known, the night she'd crossed blades with Brynjolf for the first time and learned for the first time how a caged animal felt. Looking sidelong at her husband, she couldn't help but smile a little to herself. Their marriage might not be all flowers and fluff, but she only need to meet his eyes to know in her heart he was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Her last visit to the city had been with Rune and had carried them straight into the Blue Palace in search of a rare case of wine meant to ply Gulum-Ei's tightly pursed lips. The risk hadn't returned them the information they were after, and they'd wound up having to tail the sneaky Argonian anyway, but at least it hadn't come down the lizard's death. She would have hated having his slimy black blood on her hands, especially considering he was the Guild's link to the East Empire Trading Company and Brynjolf had stressed the importance of keeping him alive before she left.

Stalking straight toward the Winking Skeever, she intended to make good on the Argonian's offer to fence a few goods for her. She had a heavy satchel of jewelry she'd taken from a silver smith in Markarth to unload and not another fence for miles.

"You want me to go and talk to Erikur while you settle up with the lizard?" Brynjolf offered, stopping in front of the tavern and drawing his hand up to rest on her shoulder.

"No way." She beamed up at him, delighting in the flash of surprise that warmed his bright green eyes. "I came all this way to see the man's face when he finds out I'm the one Delvin sent to do his dirty business."

"That's bold, lass, and I still say it's a bad idea to go pushing Erikur's buttons on purpose. If this whole thing backfires, we'll never hear the end of it from Delvin, and as much as I hate to play the maturity card on this, we need to approach with caution in order to ensure this goes well."

"If Delvin was worried it was going to backfire, he wouldn't have sent me in the first place," she pointed out. "Trust me, Bryn. I got this."

"Trust you," he muttered, shaking his head and following her through the double doors of the Winking Skeever. "Every time you say the words _trust me_ lately I get a sour feeling in my guts."

"If you can't trust _me_, who can you trust?" She grinned back over her shoulder at him and then headed left, straight for Gulum-Ei, who was sitting in his usual corner enjoying a plate of seared slaughterfish and seasoned rice. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite Argonian." She dropped down into the chair across from him, absolutely giddy with the frantic look in the lizard's eyes.

"It's been awhile since I saw you here, Ghost."

After news spread about her taking out Mercer, her old Guildname had spread with it, until everyone in the Skyrim Underground knew exactly who she was and what she'd done. Part of her thought that had something to do with Delvin. He'd been absolutely giddy when he'd learned her identity.

Gulum-Ei swallowed hard, his scaly throat constricting almost painfully against the movement. "And I see you brought a friend…" Eyes trailing upward, they bulged when he realized exactly who her friend was. "Brynjolf, it's been even longer since I last saw you. What brings you? Looking for information? Come to check on the Trading Company take?"

"Just doing a bit of sight-seeing."

"I heard about Mercer," he said quietly. "I can't believe he got away with it as long as he did."

"I'm not here to talk about Mercer. I'm here to sell you some goods. Now are you buying, or do I hunt down the Caravan and strike a better deal with the Khajiit?"

"All right, all right," he nodded, lifting a clawed hand to placate her. "There's no need to be testy. We're all friends here. I've got plenty of coin. Let's see what you brought me."

The Argonian eyed each piece of jewelry carefully, checking the craftsmanship and the quality of the stones. She knew exactly what every piece was worth and kept waiting for him to try and stiff her, but after inspecting the last silver and emerald necklace he looked up with what could only presumably be a smile.

"These are exceptional. Wherever did you find them… no, wait, I don't want to know. I'll give you sixteen hundred for the whole lot," he offered in his raspy tone.

"I want eighteen-fifty and a favor."

"Eighteen-fifty?" He balked. "And a favor? I don't like the sound of that."

"Oh come on," she rolled her eyes. "One teeny-tiny little favor never hurt anyone, Gulum-Ei, but if you'd rather I take my business to Ri'saad…"

"Trust me, neither you or I wants her anywhere near that cat," Brynjolf chuckled.

He cringed at the mention of the Khajiit Caravan leader and relented without even asking what her favor was. "Eighteen-fifty," he agreed. "Now what else did you need?"

"I have a very rare item and I'm looking for a buyer, a private collector," she began, catching the odd look Brynjolf cast in her direction. "I want you to quietly put the word out that one of the legendary Eyes of the Falmer is up for grabs. I want ten thousand Septims for it and if you can find someone willing to pay that much, I'll give you five percent of the profits."

"Make it ten percent and you've got yourself a deal."

"All right," she agreed, feeling pleased with herself. She would have gone as high as twenty if he really pushed it, but parting with a thousand gold was no skin off her back, especially not if Nocturnal's promise of riches beyond their wildest dreams panned out. Holding her hand out, she shook with the Argonian and told him to send a Courier to Riften when he found a buyer.

She was on her way to the door when Gulum-Ei called after her to come back. Turning toward him, he actually started walking out to meet with her. "Hey, I almost forgot. There was word on the street a couple days ago that your old Guildmaster was here."

"Brutus?" she whispered, glancing up at Brynjolf who was lingering over her shoulder. "Here in Solitude?"

"That's what I heard," the lizard glanced around almost suspiciously. "I also heard what he did to House Dareloth." Shuddering against the grind of his own sharp teeth, he snarled a little before going on. "So I had him tailed while he was here just in case I ran into you again and you wanted to know what he was up to."

"And? How much do you want for that information?"

"Not a Septim." He shook his head. "After the things he's done, I know exactly where I'm standing on this matter."

"Awe, Gulum-Ei, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were starting to like me."

Grimacing at her suggestion, he avoided Brynjolf's amused stare.

"So what's the word on the streets?" Brynjolf asked.

"Three days ago he met with a thief named Jaree-Ra about some shipwreck heist he's been trying to pull off out near Solitude Lighthouse. That same night the light went out and an incoming merchant ship was destroyed just off the coast. Everyone onboard was killed and all the merchandise disappeared. Jaree-Ra and his shady sister Deeja haven't been in town since, but my bet is your old friend made plans with those two schemers to loot the wreckage and split the profits."

Nocturnal warned her that Brutus was coming, but she'd never expected to be so close to him so quickly, and for some reason she had felt almost certain the quest to destroy him would take her back to Cyrodiil. The thought of him in Skyrim intrigued her, mostly because if there was anyone more spoiled and pampered than Ginna, anyone who couldn't handle the cold or harsh weather and terrain of the Northern province, it was Brutus. She hoped wherever he was, he was freezing his arse off and cursing every stupid choice he'd ever made while he suffered Skyrim's frigid embrace.

"Thanks, we'll look into it."

Outside the Winking Skeever she tried to veil her thoughts from Brynjolf, but he knew her too well. "I've seen that look before, and frankly it terrifies me. What's going on in that pretty little head of yours, Ginna?"

"Nothing," she shrugged. "I just think it might be wise to look into this shipwreck while we're here, see if we can track him down."

"Aye." Surprisingly, he'd agreed with her. "The sooner we can get on with taking that bastard out so we can get this Skeleton Key off our hands, the better."

His superstitious wariness of the Key didn't go unnoticed, and though there was a part of her that secretly longed to discover its power and bask in its glory she knew she could never fully express that to Brynjolf. Carrying out Nocturnal's wishes was little more than a burdenous task he'd give anything to be done with; she could feel it every time they spoke of it.

"Agreed," she nodded, a part of her feeling especially giddy at the thought of finally having her revenge on Brutus. "So, I'll go talk to Erikur and find out what we can do for him. Why don't you ask around and see if you can find out anything about this Jaree-Ra and his plans for Solitude Lighthouse?"

"I don't think so."

He stopped walking, allowing her several steps before she finally realized he wasn't beside her anymore. Turning back to face him, his eyes spoke volumes. No words were necessary for him to express the jealous flare of anger he felt at the thought of her meeting with Erikur alone, and she supposed considering her history with the man and the fact that he'd once watched her use her body to lure Solitude's Thane away from a Thalmor Embassy party, Brynjolf had every right to be a little wary.

"Bryn," she stepped forward to placate him. "I swear you have nothing to worry about when it comes to Erikur. The man repulses me. He was a means to an end, that's all, and you know I'm done with that kind of stuff."

"It isn't you I'm worried about."

His teeth were ground so tight together, it was no wonder his head hadn't exploded from the pressure and for a moment she almost grinned. She'd never been with a man so jealous and possessive of her before, and while it certainly had its annoying aspects something about his macho Nord need to firmly establish himself as her one and only made her shiver with an unspoken need to back him into a dark alley and show him no one else in the world mattered to her but him.

"I'm coming with you, and when we're through with Erikur we'll do some digging into this Brutus business together. I didn't put Guild business in the Cistern aside to come all this way and sit in the shadows while you do all the work."

"All right," she said, falling in beside him to loop her arm through his. "But don't lose your temper with him if he starts to get fresh. I can handle him."

"If he starts to get fresh, I'll crack his skull myself."

They found Erikur sitting on a plush bench in the Blue Palace behind Jarl Elisif's steward, Falk Firebeard. When he looked up and saw the two of them arriving at the top of the staircase, his pale face flushed bright red with righteous anger and he pushed up from his cozy seat to charge them right back down the stairs.

"What in the names of the Eight Divines are you doing here?" he growled through clenched teeth, bits of spittle flecking his lips as he shoved them out of the palace and into the courtyard. "I thought I made it perfectly clear that if I ever saw you here again, I wouldn't hesitate to put you back in that cell where you belong."

"Delvin Mallory sent me." She took more pleasure in that reveal than she probably should have, watching Erikur's bloodshot blue eyes bulge with disbelief. "He said you have a job for me."

"You've got to be gods damned kidding me," he snarled. "You're who he sent? Well, you can head straight back to your skeever den and tell Delvin Mallory I'll find someone else to get this job done."

"All right," she shrugged, starting to turn away much to Brynjolf's shock and dismay. "But you'll have a hell of a time finding someone who can handle what you need done as well as I can. I'm the best at what I do and that's why Delvin sent me. Come on, Bryn. Let's go find something to eat."

"Ginna…" he started.

"No, no, it's fine. If Thane Erikur thinks he can get this job done without us, I'd like to see him try." She tossed Brynjolf a look meant to quell his anxiety and suggest he follow her lead, but she could see he was furious with her for not playing nice. "It'll be a real hoot watching him struggle, and when he has no choice but to come crying to us to help him again after sending us away we can charge him three times what Delvin's charging now."

She started to walk away, but just as she suspected Erikur called for her to wait and she stopped on the cobblestone street without looking back. "All right," he started toward her. She could hear his footsteps, the deliberate swagger of his confident walk hesitating as he approached. "All right, but the minute you even so much as look at me wrong, you're dead, do you understand me, bitch?"

"Whoa," Brynjolf held up his hand. "I understand you're still upset with the lass after everything she did to you, and honestly no one blames you for that, but there's no need for death threats and petty name calling."

Ignoring him, Erikur waited for her to turn back around to face him. When she did, she could see nothing but pure hatred in those bloodshot eyes of his. "I'm not accustomed to dealing with people who are unreliable, which is why I asked Delvin to send me his best."

"Again, that's why he sent me."

"Hmph," he shook his head. "That remains to be seen. Nothing raises my ire more than having an agreement broken. It's bad for business and it wastes my time."

"You won't have that problem with me, I can assure you."

"Good, now if you'll follow me, I'd like to get down to business."

He pushed past them and headed down the pathway, turning left into a lavish backyard and stopping to unlock the door of the biggest personal residence, aside from the Blue Palace, in Solitude. They entered his home together, Brynjolf pinning her with a rather testy look that promised she was going to get a real earful once they were alone again.

Sitting down beside the arcane enchanter in his office, Erikur leveled his wary gaze over her again and said, "As I said, I don't like it when people break agreements and Captain Volf of the Dainty Sload has decided to test my patience on this matter by neglecting to honor a trade agreement we struck up a few months ago."

"With a name like Volf, I'm surprised you trusted him in the first place," Ginna snickered. Neither Brynjolf nor Erikur were amused. Clearing her throat, she asked, "I assume this is where I enter the picture."

"I need you to help me show him the error of his ways by sneaking on board the Sloan and planting some contraband."

"What sort of contraband?"

"You'll need to get your hands on some Balmora Blue from Sabine Nyette down by the docks. She's the firstmate of another ship, the Red Wave, and she's been known to deal in… well, let's just say she can provide you with what you'll need."

"Do you have any idea how expensive Balmora Blue is?" Brynjolf crossed his arms.

"That's not my problem, it's yours. Unless you want me to find someone else to…"

"It's not a problem," Ginna intervened. "So what do you want me to do once I have the Balmora Blue?"

"Once you get your hands on it, you'll need to head out to the Dainty Sload and plant it in Captain Volf's footlocker. I'll take care of the rest."

"Consider it done," she assured him.

"Captain Volf is ashore right now and I want the authorities to be waiting for him when he gets back. Now, get going. I don't want to see your face again until the job's done."

"Aye-aye, sir!" Ginna saluted him and turned back into the house without another word, stepping out into the fading afternoon and breathing in the fresh scent of the sea drifting in on the wind. There were so few places in Skyrim that reminded her of home, but for a single, fleeting moment that smell made her long for Cyrodiil. Her nostalgic revelry didn't last long.

Brynjolf gripped her shoulder in Erikur's yard and spun her around to face him. "Are you absolutely starkers, lass?"

"Maybe just a little," she shrugged, reaching up to lay her hand against the coarse stubble on his scarred cheek. She curled and tickled her fingers through that bristling red hair and then stepped a little closer to him. "But you already knew that. In fact, if I remember correctly, you're quite fond of telling me how much you love that about me."

"You can't play games with important clients like that," he scolded, her playful touch barely even quelling his temper. "Your little tactic could have lost this very important job for us…"

"Come on, Brynjolf. Lighten up. That's how you have to talk to people like Erikur, self-important windbag that he is. If I let him push me around, how is that going to win the Guild any respect?"

"That bloody Skeleton Key is making you far too bold, Ginna. I don't like it."

Stepping back from him, she let her hand slide away from his face and drop to her side. "And it's turning you into a coward."

She watched his face blanch at that statement, eyes firing as they narrowed over her in unspoken rage. "I am not a coward."

"No?" she challenged. Inside she could feel her stomach quivering with dread at the harsh words she'd spoken. She didn't think he was a coward at all, so why would she say that with such conviction. Even still, why wasn't she able to stop the words that next escaped her. "Then stop second-guessing everything we do. Stop cowering from every challenge like it's going to swallow you whole. The man I fell in love with would never let someone like Erikur push him around…"

As soon as she said those words, she knew they weren't true. Brynjolf may have been tough as nails under most circumstances, but he'd let Mercer walk all over him his entire life, and thinking back on the day he'd sprung her from the Solitude jail, he had allowed Erikur to do the same. He had a real soft spot when it came to the things he cared about, a soft spot that could very easily destroy him if he wasn't careful.

Gods, he was right. The Skeleton Key was making her far bolder than even she wanted to be, grinding away every bit of gentleness she'd come to express with him and stealing every ounce of tact she possessed until she could barely control the words that came out of her mouth when she was talking to him. They'd had arguments before the key, both of them stubborn and headstrong to a point that was bound to make them lock horns from time to time, but their tempers of late had well surpassed the realm of simple argument. That Key was tearing them apart.

It was too late to take it back though, and Brynjolf stiffened. Holding his shoulders upright as he shook his head and turned away from her with a curt, "All right then, lass," before walking out of the garden without another word, Ginna just stood there for a minute watching his back.

She reached into her pocket and drew out the Skeleton Key. She looked at it, eyes squinting with distrust and anger. "You're going to ruin everything in my life that matters to me, aren't you?"

The soft green design on the handle seemed to glow in answer, offering sinister warmth that silently pleaded _trust me_. She could feel its power tingling in her hand, crawling along the rising hairs of her arm, across her shoulder and down into her heart.

Shaking it off, she thrust the key back into her pocket and started after Brynjolf. She didn't know how she was going to smooth things over, much less how they would ever survive the task Nocturnal had set before them. A heavy feeling of dread clung to her being as she realized they probably wouldn't, and the chills that trembled through her body confirmed that dread for everything it was.


	9. Chapter 9

It took every ounce of integrity he possessed to walk away from her without saying more than those four words. He'd wanted to slug her in the mouth for what she'd said, had felt both fists clenching at his sides until every one of his knuckles was white with restraint, popping against the tension before he'd loosened his fingers and walked away from her to clear his head. The funny thing was that she'd probably welcome a good brawl with him; Ginna was just that kind of woman.

But no matter how she hurt him, not even the angriest part of him would ever want to harm her. Not with his hands, not with words, and there were plenty of things he could have said to her that would have crushed her where she stood. Things that had never mattered to him and probably never would; sorrows and regrets she would most likely carry for the rest of her life.

As he stalked the streets of Solitude, he could hear her walking behind him, but she kept her distance. For that he was glad because he didn't even want to look at the woman right then, much less hear anything else she had to say.

He had been called a lot of things in his day; coward had never been among them. Worse was the fact that it had come from the lips of the only woman he'd ever trusted and loved with every part of himself. Even harder than that to swallow was the part of him that felt like she was right to call him craven. He'd spent a lot of time lately hiding, from his thoughts and emotions, his guilt and anger over everything Mercer had done, his nightmares.

While the Skeleton Key seemed to be empowering Ginna, it appeared to have the opposite effect on him. That blasted Key was evil in ways he couldn't even begin to put into words, and though he'd never really considered himself superstitious he had seen enough bizarre stuff over the last few months to change his mind about that forever.

"Excuse me, Brynjolf of Riften?" The Courier approached him out of breath. "I've been looking for you. I've got something I'm supposed to deliver." He rooted through his satchel and pulled out a sealed letter. "Ah, here we go." He thrust it forward, but for a moment Brynjolf just stared at it, not sure what to think. "It's a letter, for your eyes only."

Couriers didn't generally track him down unless something big was going down with the Guild. In fact, the last time he'd come face to face with a Courier whose pocket he hadn't been picking had been the day Vipir had taken the fall on account of that do-good elven Thane disrupting one of the biggest heists they'd ever tried to pull off. It had pushed him over the edge and he'd gone in to try and finish the job himself, an effort that nearly got him killed.

"You're supposed to take it," the Courier told him.

"I'll take it." Ginna stepped up beside him and snatched the letter out of the young man's hand. The Courier looked over at her with absolute indignation that didn't fade even when she explained, "I'm his wife. Here, for your trouble." She tipped him five gold Septims and sent him on his way.

"I believe that was meant for me." He grabbed it from her hands and stuffed it into one of his pockets.

He kept waiting for her to remind him that being partners in more than just crime made everything that was his hers and visa-versa, but instead she just shrugged and asked, "Aren't you even going to read it?"

"That last time I got a letter from a Courier it was bad news…" He realized as soon as the words escaped him he was acting accordingly to her accusation of cowardice and his face warmed with the heat of embarrassment. He wasn't being a coward. He just wasn't in the mood for any more bad news. "I'll read it when we're outside the city," he added, to assure her he wasn't running from whatever dark tidings obviously awaited him within the folds of parchment in his pocket.

"Do you want me to do some digging about this Jaree-Ra character and meet up with you by the docks?"

Some time apart from her would probably help to cool his temper, and if it was bad news he'd definitely want a few minutes to think through it before he relayed it to her anyway. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

"Bryn…" She grabbed his arm before he could walk away, soft fingers curling around the thick leather armor over his forearm. She stared up at him, her striking crystalline eyes gleaming with apology and sorrow. He hated seeing her so sad, hated the nagging fear inside him that worried they would never make it in the world together. "Look, I'm sorry I said that to you…"

He glanced down at her hand on his arm and studied her long fingers for a moment, the jeweled marriage band she wore on her left index finger and then he lifted his eyes to her face. "We keep saying we're sorry, Ginna, but I'm starting to wonder if either of us really means it."

Withdrawing his arm from her grip, he turned his back on her and walked quietly out of the city without looking back. It wasn't meant to be cruel; just a cold observation, but he imagined it hurt her enough to keep her thinking about it until she found him by the docks.

He hadn't even gone near the guard just outside the doors, but the woman still felt the need to hiss, "Hands to yourself, sneak-thief," when he passed, making him feel oddly self-conscious as he glanced back over his shoulder at her with a furrowed brow.

With the Guild on the rise again, there was likely to be some fallback from the guards, the overly righteous thinking they knew how best to deal with criminal activity even though their efforts would always be thwarted by corruption. It was just how the world worked when the Guild was at the top and sooner or later they would all learn their places.

The long, downhill walk to the docks helped clear his head a little, but it didn't alleviate the feeling of dread pressing tight on his chest. Sitting down on the dock steps, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the letter. The seal had broken when he crumpled it into his armor, sticky bits of powdery red wax clinging to his fingers as he drew in a deep breath and unfolded the stiff parchment.

Without reading, he scanned the paper all the way to the bottom to see who it was from. Vex… The dread doubled in his gut, and then he swallowed his fear to read what she had to say.

_Brynjolf,_

_Hey, I know you're probably freaking out because I sent a Courier after you, but you need to relax. Things here are going well and the jobs are overflowing like Lake Honrich after a heavy winter's snow melts. Delvin's already got another big client lined up in Whiterun and I've got a prospect I think will help lighten some of the load around here. Gods know we can use all the help we can get._

_So to the point, the Aretino kid showed up here in the Ratway this morning. I have no idea how he got to the Flagon, but he marched right into the place and went straight to Dirge, of all people. The moron threatened to pound the brat into the ground, but Delvin and I managed to step between them before any death threats or black sacrements were issued from either side._

_We questioned him extensively to find out what he was doing down here. Turns out he was looking for you. He says he was sent by the Dark Brotherhood to apprentice you. Delvin did some digging, got in touch with a few contacts and it turns out the Brotherhood has no idea who this kid is. Not sure what we should do with him._

_Awaiting your word._

_Vex_

He read over the letter again, some of the dread alleviating only to be replaced by confusion. He played that name over and over in his head. The Aretino kid… why did that sound so familiar? Aretino… Aretino… And then he remembered. There'd been rumors circling both Underground and above that one of the kids from the orphanage managed to run away and he'd gone home to perform the Black Sacrament.

To make matters even more disturbing the old bat who ran the orphanage had been killed the night before he and Ginna left Riften and he'd overheard rumors it was a Dark Brotherhood hit.

A shudder moved through him as he folded the letter and stuffed it back into his pocket to mull it all over. He'd never cared much for the Dark Brotherhood. Sure, there was a place for everyone and there were definitely enough people in the world in need of a quick blade in the dark, but the assassins had done a number on Delvin a few years back. One particular assassin to be precise—a sultry Nord named Astrid who'd broken the old thief's heart and spirit, or so he claimed.

When Ginna found him, he realized he was sitting in the exact same place he'd waited for her the day he'd liberated her from Solitude's dungeon. She sauntered toward him as confidently then as she had that day, but then he'd known her confidence had been nothing but a protective ruse she'd thrown up to keep him on his toes. Even then she was all fire, and maybe it had been crazy but he'd known the moment he laid eyes on her the two of them had been made to burn together.

Now her swaggering confidence came from Nocturnal, and as much as he hated the dark hold that Skeleton Key had on her, he couldn't deny that just watching her walk took his breath away and stirred an ache in his groin that only being inside her could soothe. Remembering the cruel words she'd spoken, he tried his best to harden the rest of himself as she approached, crossing her arms and standing over him with a smug grin that made it almost impossible to stay mad at her.

"So, according to Jaree-Ra's little Nord girlfriend he's a con artist and he and his scaly sister have been scheming for months to find an idiot they could dupe into helping them pull off this trader ship heist."

"And Brutus turned out to be their idiot."

"Sounds like it," she shrugged. "She says she hasn't heard from Jaree-Ra in days, which isn't unusual. She also said they probably killed whoever they got to help them pull it off, but I know Brutus isn't dead. I have this strange feeling I'd know it if he was."

"I'm not so sure about that, Gin. You didn't know he was going to betray you when he did, and you had no idea it was him that poisoned your father."

"That was different," she refuted. "Nocturnal wasn't involved then."

"No, I suppose she wasn't," he sighed.

He hated how tangled Nocturnal was into all of their affairs now, how reliant they were on her influence to pull themselves up, dust off and get back to the top of the gold pile. Most of all, he hated how seriously Ginna was taking all of it, as if Nocturnal herself were somehow always with her, whispering in her ear, corrupting her and filling her with shadows and promises of a vengeful payoff she couldn't resist. Everything he knew about Nocturnal, which even he had to admit wasn't much, told him she should care less about vengeance, and yet there they were embroiled in the very throes of some Daedric Prince's dark game.

He hadn't realized Ginna was still talking until he heard her say, "…so I threatened to run my dagger across her throat if she didn't tell me where he might go to hideout for a few days. Turns out he and a pack of marauders hideout in the grotto just north of the city."

"All right," he nodded. "We'll look into it a little deeper after we take care of this job for Erikur."

"Sounds good."

They put their personal issues aside for the moment and focused on business. While Ginna walked up the dock to the deck of the Red Wave to talk with Sabine Nyette, Brynjolf prowled below the prow. He could overhear the conversation Ginna was having with the pirate above and it was quickly getting heated. Apparently the woman wanted fifteen hundred Septims for a bottle, a price Ginna wasn't willing to pay. He was actually proud of her for that. Gods knew she was always throwing coin around like she had a never ending supply of it hidden under Honeyside.

The last thing he heard was his wife telling the woman, "You better hope I don't come back here and run a blade through you tonight while you're sleeping."

"I'd like to see you try it, little girl."

"You won't see it when it comes," Ginna assured, calling back over her shoulder as she dropped down onto the deck.

"What the Void was that all about?"

"That greedy wench wants fifteen hundred gold for a tiny little bottle of Balmora Blue."

"So you threatened to kill her?" Gods, that Key wasn't just making her bolder, it was making her violent.

Ignoring his tone and his question, she went on talking as if he hadn't spoken at all. "I'm sure she doesn't have it onboard. That would just be stupid, but maybe we can do some digging, bribe or threaten one of her crew to tell us where she keeps it hidden."

Brynjolf surveyed the docks. There were definitely plenty of sailors milling about. It would just be a matter of finding one who worked on the Red Wave. "All right," he nodded, returning his gaze to her. "Let's split up and ask around." After a moment's hesitation he added, "And Gin, try not to kill anyone, all right?"

A hurt look dawned on her face, her brow furrowing over her sharp eyes as she stared up at him. "I haven't killed anyone since Mercer. I'm not an idiot, Bryn."

"I wasn't implying that you were an idiot, but you've been waving that blade of yours around with everyone you talk to. One of these times someone's going to take you up on your offer for a fight and it could fall back on the Guild if you get caught standing over a dead body with blood on your blade."

The hurt in her eyes increased, sadness mingling with hints of disbelief. "That really is all you care about it, isn't it? Your precious Guild?" Shaking her head she started walking away from him, but not before informing him, "I'll head over to the East Empire Trading Company and see what I can find out. Don't worry, Brynjolf. I won't kill anyone while I'm there."

He watched her walk away with the same stubborn determination not to give him the satisfaction of looking back that he'd employed when he'd left her standing outside Erikur's house. Brynjolf's stomach roiled and clenched inside him. He hated the notion that they'd made a mistake in getting married; it made him feel sick to think they weren't meant to be together, but if they didn't find a balance between anger and apology soon he couldn't imagine they would make it more than a few months before they completely fell apart.


	10. Chapter 10

Ginna had never been around a lot of happily married couples. To be more precise, there hadn't been any married couples in House Dareloth, only a partnership of thieves in the Cyrodiil Guild that lived outside the household and occasionally stopped in to enjoy one of Severus's elaborate parties. She didn't know if a married couple was supposed to be at each other's throats all the time or not, but the constant tension between her and Brynjolf could not be a good sign for a happy future.

His refusal to accept her apology after she'd called him a coward definitely irritated her at first, but the more time she had to herself to think about it, the more she realized he was right. They were saying sorry a lot more often than seemed normal. It was like every apology preceded an even bigger argument than the last one. How long before they blew apart and couldn't put things back together again.

The thought was terrifying. All her life she'd never dreamed she'd have someone like Brynjolf in her life, a man who actually loved her for more than the amount of gold she could lift, who needed more than just the damp warmth between her thighs to satisfy his lust. When they were in each other's arms, she felt safe and understood, full in ways she'd never felt before and for a moment she closed her eyes and she could almost feel the heated whisper of his breath against her ear murmuring, "My Ginna, my love," in the dark.

But how did they stop the raging inferno of their tempers from coming between them when it was that very fire that obviously attracted them to each other in the first place? And why did it seem that no matter what she did to help him get the Guild out of the trenches, it wasn't enough. He was always so worried she would tarnish it and make them look bad. She knew things had been bad for them, but she also knew how to conduct herself. She'd been a thief all her life, and no matter how different their Guild rules and preferences may have been from the Guild she grew up in, she knew better than anyone not to draw unwanted attention to their practices.

She was a ghost, for Sheogorath's sake. She'd spent her entire existence learning how not to draw attention to herself. On the other hand, she'd also learned that sometimes a thief had to draw attention to herself if she wanted to divert that very attention away.

Two roguish sailors in rough leather armor lingered outside the entrance to the East Empire Trading Company in quiet conversation with each other, and Ginna watched them for a while before sauntering slowly toward them. "Hey boys," she grinned, flashing her smile like a weapon. They both softened immediately, their bodies relaxing as she approached. "What brings you to Solitude?"

"We're with the crew of the Red Wave," the dark-eyed Breton said with unfailing pride.

"Ooh, so you're pirates?"

The other man was a Redguard, and much taller. He had smooth mocha skin and the most perfectly arranged black braids crawling back his skull. Both ears dangled and glittered with silver hoops and when he smiled he flashed a gold tooth that made him appear frighteningly handsome.

"Some may call us pirates, but we think of ourselves as simple sailors." He spoke with a thick accent she couldn't quite place and when he took another step toward her he towered over her as his dark brown eyes roved up and down her body with appreciation. "You sound like you're not from these parts either? You from Cyrodiil, yah?"

"No," she shook her head, a part of her feeling a tingling alarm at so bold a question. It might have meant nothing, but the last thing she wanted was to run into someone who knew Brutus before she ran into him first—preferably with the Nightingale Blade Karliah had gifted her. "I'm from Windhelm. Have you been in town long? I'm looking for a good time, but no one around here seems willing to share their… sources. Security must be pretty tight in Solitude, huh?"

"Tight enough," the Breton shrugged.

"What kind of party you looking for?" The roguish Redguard drew a soft pink tongue across his lower lip and there was a moment when Ginna actually thought _if I wasn't already married_ before quickly snapping that thought from her mind. She was already married and gorgeous as the pirate was he had nothing on Brynjolf.

"Skooma maybe," she shrugged. "Sleeping Tree Sap."

"Child's play, girl," he said. "I know where you can get your hands on something sweeter."

His Breton counterpart nudged him with an elbow but the Redguard ignored him.

"How sweet?"

"Balmora Blue." He cocked a thin black eyebrow at her, still refusing to acknowledge his friend's urgings to close his mouth.

"Wow," she cooed, sliding a little closer to him. "How much?"

"Five hundred gold."

"That seems a bit high," she challenged softly.

"Oh no," he shook his head. "It's worth every Septim, I tell you."

"All right," she agreed. "How soon can you get it to me?"

"Meet me back here with the gold in an hour."

They agreed and she watched the two of them arguing as they walked away from her. She overheard his counterpart scolding him that if Sabine found out they were digging into her private footlocker so he could get laid, she'd have them both hung. The last thing she heard the Redguard say was, "Sabine ain't gonna know nothin' unless you tell her, and we make a quick, under the table five hundred gold while I get a much desired piece of ass."

Rolling her eyes at that last part of their conversation, she waited until they reached the end of the dock and then she rushed toward Brynjolf who had gone up the stairs and back toward the city. Without a word she grabbed the sleeve of his armor and pulled him with her, the two of them ducking and crouching quietly through the shadows until they arrived at the opposite end of the prow. She could see the Redguard taking off his armor, his sketchy Breton friend still going on about them getting into trouble with Sabine if she found out. He kept glancing up at the ship, waiting for their captain to lean over and catch them in the act.

"What are we doing, lass?" He crouched so close behind her she could smell the leather of his armor, the familiarity of his nearness gripping her heart and squeezing it inside her chest.

"They're going to get me some Balmora Blue for a third of the price Sabine wanted to charge me." She grinned back over her shoulder at him, watching his bright eyes spark with approval. "Only we're not paying them either." The light quickly flashed from his eyes, his mouth curling into confused question. "I'm watching where they go, and after they've gone back over to the Trading Company, we're going down to check her stash. I'll take what we need and we'll go from there."

The approval returned as he nodded respect and lifted a hand to rest on his shoulder as he hunched a little closer to her back. His shoulder edged gently against her spine, face resting against hers as he watched the pirates argue on the dock. "Clever move," he whispered, kissing her cheek. The roughness of his facial hair brushing against her skin sent shivers through her and she nestled her face into his, closing her eyes for a moment to just enjoy being near him in a brief moment of peace. She breathed in his familiar, comforting scent, musk and leather and the crisp cold of fresh air. The wind rustled through his hair, the strands of it stroking her as it moved.

"I thought so." Glancing back toward the edge of the dock, the Redguard dove almost silently into the water. His paranoid friend crossed his arms and looked around to make sure no one else was watching. "All right, we know the general location of her footlocker, so let's make ourselves invisible for a while. We'll hide in the brush up there and wait for them to leave again."

With a nod, he crouched a few steps back and Ginna turned to follow, occasionally watching over her shoulder for the Redguard pirate to resurface. They made their way up the stairs again and into the dense brush along the roadside, ducking into position side by side just within view of the Red Wave.

"I talked to a couple of guards," he said after a few minutes. "The Dainty Sload is just north of here." Gesturing toward the point of his finger, Ginna scanned the horizon and nodded.

"There's a dock behind the East Empire Trading Company," she remembered. "Rune and I came out near there when we were tracking down Gulum-Ei. After we have the Balmora Blue, we can probably sneak through there and into the secret underground tunnel system the smugglers use, but we'll have to wait until dark to go in, stick to the shadows and sneak by because those guys will be looking for me to return."

"All right, you lead."

With a curt nod, she turned toward the Red Wave again, watching as the Redguard Pirate secured the Balmora Blue in one of his pouches and buckled his armor back over his broad, bare chest. Even from their distant vantage point, she could see the two of them were still arguing over the Redguard's decision, but she could no longer make out what they were saying. It didn't matter, they were doing exactly what she hoped they would do.

She waited until they were halfway back to the docks on the other side, and then said, "Okay, I'm going in."

"I've got your back."

Slinking down the hillside, she clung to the shadows and kept her eye on the docks and the Red Wave. She ducked in under the dock, the water immediately seeping into her boots, its cold fingers soaking through the legs of her pants until her armor clung heavily to her body and made ever movement feel labored and stiff. She dug the Skeleton Key from her pocket and gripped it in her hand, its energy aligning with her own. When the time came it would guide her exactly where she needed to go; she could feel it.

Treading water as it deepened, she turned to look back over her shoulder at Brynjolf and then filling her lungs with a deep breath, she slipped below the water and began swimming around the structure. Down, down, deeper she swam, her eyes stinging as she blinked through the cold, murky water. A salmon swam by her, and then another, but she kept slicing through the water like a blade. When she found the footlocker, she could feel her lungs aching with the need for air, but there was no way she was rising to the surface without what she'd come for.

She slid the Skeleton Key into the lock and jiggled it until she found its weak point and then she turned until the springs aligned and the lock gave way to her prodding. It popped, trapped bubbles of air from inside the chest rushing past her face as she lifted the lid and scanned the contents. A heavy satchel of gold sat nestled beside two bottles of Balmora Blue. She took it all and pushed the lid back down until she heard it click into place and then she swam quickly upward.

Ginna breached the surface of the water, her burning lungs desperately longing for air. She gulped several rasping breaths as she swam toward the shoreline beneath the dock and then walked up onto the sandy grass. Brynjolf had come down to wait for her, and stood with his arms crossed an expectant, yet wary look on his face.

"I've got it," she whispered, holding up the bottle to show him.

"Good work, love. Come on, let's head back up to the inn and try to get those clothes dried before you catch your death."

Lowering his arm over her shoulder, he led her back up the hill and onto the road leading into Solitude. She dripped all the way, shivering and shuddering in her own armor. No one even seemed to notice her shivering wet and sloshing into the inn, and while Brynjolf paid for a room upstairs, she trembled near the stairs waiting for him.

He led her to their room and as soon as they were behind the closed doors, he started unbuckling her armor and peeling it away from her clammy skin until she stood naked and freezing before him. His hands were so warm, his body heat practically radiating into her own skin and when he backed away to yank the comforter from the bed and wrap it around her, she longed to just grab him and pull him to her until his nearness took the edge off the chill.

"There's a tailor's shop just across the street. I'll walk over and get you something dry to wear. You curl up here and stay warm, all right?" He gripped both shoulders in his large hands and then lowered his lips to her forehead in a soft kiss before withdrawing and leaving her to shiver in the room alone.

She sat down in the chair and pulled her legs up close to her body, wrapping the blanket as close as she could and resting her head on her arms. They worked so well together, she reflected, and had done so since the day they met. It was as if they only needed to exchange glances to know exactly what the other was planning, making it easy to collaborate their efforts to get the job done. She'd never had a partner like that, and that alone spoke volumes against any doubt she had that she and Brynjolf weren't meant to be together.

Despite how often they butted heads or how differently their approaches were, they were the perfect team when it came time to get down to business. So why couldn't they put those efforts into practice in their personal relationship as well?

Unless Nocturnal was deliberately playing them against each other to keep them solitary and devoted to nothing but her?

Swallowing hard against that painful thought, Ginna found herself thinking of Gallus Desidenius, the former Guildmaster who'd died at Mercer's hand and left Karliah painfully alone. What had their relationship been like, she wondered? Had Gallus and Karliah coexisted peaceably together, or did they find themselves in the same tense position, always butting heads while remaining completely enamored with each other.

As painful as it was for her Dunmer friend to talk about Gallus, Ginna would have to ask her when they returned to Riften. She didn't want to lose Brynjolf, but if they couldn't find balance between shadow and light together, they were never going to last.

He wasn't gone long, returning with a lavish, royal blue silk dressing gown and a pair of simple leather shoes. Holding up the gown, he let it unfurl until it reached the floor, his bright green eyes alight with a strange sense of pride. "I know this isn't your typical attire, and you're not exactly going to be doing much dirty work in it, but when I saw this in the shop I imagined you in it and you looked so lovely it took my breath away."

Ginna rose from the chair, still holding the blanket around her as she walked toward the gown. She'd had so many beautiful gowns like that one growing up with Severus. Her Guildfather had believed strongly that they should flaunt their wealth and power, blend in among nobility as if they truly belonged there in order to instill awe, wonder and fear of the power House Dareloth held in the city. He'd conducted the most outlandish gatherings, expensive parties brimming with rich, powerful political allies that guaranteed their Guild remained top rung. As children he would deck both her and Brutus in the most expensive clothing money could buy and parade them around with pride while rich, powerful clients cooed and pinched their cheeks. As young adults they'd often been charged with the task of mingling with important guests in order to lighten their pockets of valuables, a job Brutus hated with a passion.

Those parties had ceased after he'd grown ill, stopping completely once Brutus became Guildmaster and refused to kiss ass the way their father had always done; she had missed them more than he would ever know and had watched with great sadness as their position in upper class society began to drift so far from the place Severus had asserted them.

Loosening her hand from the blanket she touched the velvet bodice, fingers gliding over the surface with unbridled excitement. He'd always scolded her for throwing money around frivolously, calling her pampered and spoiled, and yet he was always giving her gifts like that when she least expected them. Fine jewels he'd lifted, pretty trinkets that reminded him of her.

"Bryn, this is beautiful."

"Aye," he agreed, "and so are you." His hand came up to cradle her cheek and lift her face toward his as his lips lowered to brush gently against hers.

That hand fell to her shoulder, brushing back the blanket until her bare skin prickled with gooseflesh under his touch. Still kissing him, she let go of the blanket and reached between them to deftly unbuckle his armor. The dress and the blanket were both lost in the shuffle of bodies and armor as he backed her onto the bed and fell in above her with a playful growl that made her laugh almost as much as the tickle of his beard as he kissed his way down into the smooth arch of her long neck and over her shoulder. His warm, strong hand cupped the mound of her breast, squeezing tenderly before dipping in to taste the puckered flesh of her taut nipple.

Ginna sucked in a deep breath, arching her body against his and lifting an almost desperate hand into his soft hair. Fingers tangled against the strands, gripping softly as he went lower, kissing the ticklish skin of her belly until she squirmed. He brushed his lips across her hip bone, strong fingers squeezing the fleshy part of her thigh as he fell onto the mattress between her legs and lifted his devious gaze to meet hers.

Before Brynjolf she'd never been with a man so eager to please her, so willing to satisfy her needs. He took great pleasure in her whimpering pleas for more as his wicked tongue lashed and tasted her with such skill it took mere moments before she cried out release, her entire body tensing and shuddering as blissful waves of pleasure rolled through her again and again.

As he rose to enter her, she arched into him and moaned softly against his freckled shoulder, her legs lifting around his until they found the perfect rhythm together. Gone were the chills that wracked her body as his heat became hers and all the tension that had built between them melted away. It always seemed to disappear when he was inside her, when they were in that blissful place together where every argument and harsh word felt completely irrelevant to their existence.

The soft flutter of his hair against her face, his warm breath on her skin, the crushing weight of his hard body moving in perfect rhythm with hers stimulated every nerve inside her until her body sang with pleasure.

He rolled with her until she was above him and looking down, their hands entwined beside his shoulders, eyes locked. The things she saw in him when they were together like this were enough to spark every emotion inside her until she wanted to cry at the sheer overwhelming power of the love they shared. It was so much deeper than physical attraction, so much stronger than any bond she'd ever known with another. It was the greatest, most painfully beautiful thing she'd ever shared with anyone, and the thought of how much time they spent hurting each other when they could have just loved one another made her ache.

"I love you," she whispered across his lips.

Brynjolf nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers, rising into her kiss again to answer, "I love you."

That had to be all that mattered, and it had to be strong enough to get them through whatever darkness lay ahead because she knew in her heart now that she'd found him she would never be able to survive if he wasn't a part of her.

"Do you promise?"

"Aye," he murmured into her kiss. "I swear it."

"I swear it too," she said.


	11. Chapter 11

Brynjolf lay in the bed watching her brush through the loose strands of her wavy blond hair, gathering the layers into two braids that held it away from her face and securing them into place with thin strips of leather that disappeared into her hair when she let them go. She'd put on the dress he brought her and for a time she couldn't stop looking at herself in the glass behind the dresser. So regal, so incredibly beautiful he felt his breath catch in the back of his throat and lowered his head onto the pillow again. How had he gotten so lucky; better yet, why was he questioning that luck instead of celebrating it?

It was an old thieves' superstition, he supposed. If it feels like it's too good to be true than it probably is, and since the day he'd met her Ginna had been too good to be true.

She glanced over at him in the bed and caught him staring at her, a tiny smile working the corners of her full mouth as she tilted her head and asked, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

It amazed him that she had no idea how beautiful she was. He sat up to reach for her hand, tugged her back into the bed and cuddled her body close to his. "I like to look at you." He kissed her temple and then her cheek. She made a soft mewling sound as she lowered her arm over his chest and snuggled against him. For a while he stroked his fingers along the velvet sleeves of her gown, soothing himself with the feel of it against his skin.

"I know I've been kind of hard to get along with lately, but I'm so glad you came with me on this trip. That we were able to get away from Riften together for a little while."

Even though they'd kissed and made up at least once every day since they'd left Riften, sometimes twice, it still surprised him to hear her say that. They'd spent more time sniping at each other than actually working together, but on further reflection he realized that when they did work together, they made an exceptional team.

"You just liked breaking into your little estate in Markarth to spend the night and play house together," he chuckled.

"Mm," she agreed. "I did like that. I'll like it even more when I don't have to break in because I have the key and the deed both in hand. Can you imagine how much profit I could make stealing from that silversmith on a regular basis? From the Treasury House?"

As much as he liked the idea of living the lifestyle she so desperately longed to live, it never failed to make him nervous when she talked about owning property outside Riften. Mostly because he knew she was serious. She may have hated the Cistern, which he could live with, but Honeyside was comfortable and Maven liked her well enough to make sure she never had to leave, but somehow he feared their little bungalow would never be enough for her.

He didn't say anything about her dream home in Markarth though. It wasn't worth getting into another argument over and for the time being he just wanted to lie there and hold her until the sun went down. He stroked his fingers through her hair, tangling the soft strands around his finger and loosening them again until Ginna's breath soon deepened and slowed. Her tiny body grew slack and light in his arms and he shifted to accommodate her without waking her. She sighed in her sleep and drew her leg up to rest over his thigh.

Below their room he could hear the bard playing, her sweet voice singing of a great hero come to battle the dragons. He closed his eyes and let the music lull him, sleep eventually claiming him but it wasn't peaceful.

It never was.

He was a boy again pleading with his mother not to leave him. He was scared to let her go; he knew she was going to die if she left him. And then Karliah came and she sat on the edge of his bed. She promised to sing him to sleep, and her gentle song mingled with the bardsong outside his dream. And then he stabbed his dagger into her belly, growling the words, "Die, you miserable wretch!" before awareness gripped him and he cried out in desperation. Karliah grabbed his hand, fingers pressing tight around his as she pulled the blade into her body, smiling down at him through blood-smeared lips as he cried out, "What have I done? What have I done?"

"Everything you love will die, my boy." He looked up to see Gallus standing behind Karliah, dripping blood glistening black against his Nightingale armor, his dead eyes so bright he couldn't stand to look into them. "Everything you love will die."

"No!"

Waking with a start as Ginna walked back into the room, she was balancing two plates of food and an unopened bottle of mead. Raggedly trying to catch his breath and push those images away, she lowered the plates to the table and peeked around the post to look at him.

"You all right, Bryn? I heard you out in the hallway, it sounded like you were having a nightmare."

Swallowing, he nodded curtly and sat on the edge of the bed to try and regain his bearings. What was it about that dream? Why did he keep stabbing Karliah over and over again while he slept?

"I'm fine," he mumbled, lowering his feet to the floor and running his trembling hand through his hair.

"I brought us dinner," she told him. "Roast pheasant with leeks and potatoes." She groaned the words blissfully. "The smell woke me from a dead sleep and I had to have it."

Those words—dead sleep—gave him chills.

She sat down at the table and started eating, still talking as she forked a bite of buttered baked potatoes into her mouth. "I woke up so hungry. I swear it's like we haven't eaten since we left Markarth."

"We ate this afternoon," he laughed, shaking off the bad energy from that dream and joining her at the table.

"I know, but then I went swimming and you completely wore me out," she grinned over at him and watched as he took a seat. "All that exercise completely drained my stamina."

"Well, we've probably got a long night ahead of us, so best to replenish it now."

"So what were you dreaming?" she changed the subject. "It sounded scary."

"Oh, nothing," he shook his head. "I don't remember."

She accepted his lie without question and went on to ask, "Did you ever read that letter the Courier brought you? I forgot to ask you about it earlier."

"Aye, it was from Vex."

"Everything all right?"

"The Guild is fine, but apparently some boy came to the Flagon looking for me. Said the Dark Brotherhood sent him to find me, but he won't tell any of them what he wants."

She wrinkled her nose and shoveled in a bite of chicken. "That's weird," she said when she'd finished chewing. "I wonder what the Dark Brotherhood wants with you?"

"Who knows. Delvin did a bit of digging, but his Brotherhood contacts say they have no idea what he's talking about, they never sent the kid."

"Again, I say weird."

"Agreed."

The memory of that dream clung tight, and every time he blinked for just a second too long he could see Gallus's face, hear those dark tidings. _Everything you love will die_,_my boy_. To date, that had been more true than he could ever imagine. His parents, Gallus… Mercer. Not that he should give a damn about Mercer, but a part of him did. The man had raised him, taken care of him despite his treacheries, and while he certainly wouldn't mourn him, he would never forget the things Mercer had done to keep him alive.

Looking over at Ginna again, he felt every muscle inside him tense. What if something were to happen to her? He'd faced the heartache of losing her once before, but she'd come back to him. What if she didn't come back next time?

He wasn't really hungry, in fact his stomach felt a little off, so he pushed his food around on his plate while she ate and chattered like a sweet little bird about the job ahead of them.

"Come on, Bryn," she lowered her fork onto his plate to carve out a bite of pheasant. "You haven't touched your food. You're going to need your energy tonight. Eat." Lifting the fork to his lips, she held it there for him and he just stared at her until he could no longer resist the urging of her smile. He took the bite, but leaned back before she could offer another, chewing while he thought of a way to steer her away from his mood.

Cutting off another piece of meat, she didn't lift it toward him, but ate it herself.

"The food here is really good," she noted. "I could send you off to do this job alone and just sit here and stuff my face all night."

He quirked an eyebrow at the thought. If she stayed behind there'd be less chance of anything bad happening to her. "I could pull this off alone if you really don't feel up to doing it, Gin."

"Yeah right," she laughed. "I wouldn't miss this job for the world. Speaking of missing this job, we should finish up here and head out. I want to get this done and over with so I can enjoy the look on Erikur's face when he finds out I actually pulled it off."

He should have known she wouldn't go for it. She'd been stubborn as a mule since the day he'd met her and he'd learned quick there was no trying to change her mind once she had it set on something. He would protect her, keep alert and watch her back like a good partner should.

He couldn't let anything happen to her, or anyone else he loved ever again.

The docks were quiet, save for the constant bells of the buoys bobbing in the harbor. From the shadows they scanned the perimeter, placed the guards and gestured out a silent entrance strategy that kept them in the shadows and led them straight to the front doors of the East Empire warehouse. He stood behind her keeping watch while she worked her magic with the Skeleton Key and then ducked between the barely opened doors when she tugged his sleeve to let him know she was inside.

They crawled along boarded walkways between pallets and shelves stocked with goods from all over the world. Two shadows that made no sound as they moved, even as they bypassed one of the sentinels, the woman had no idea they were even there. He'd never been in the smugglers tunnels, so when Ginna hopped down to lead him through the doorway beneath the pallets, he was surprised to find how intricate the system was. They crept past bandits unnoticed, slipped through an old cobwebbed system filled with dead frostbite spiders bigger than he was and came out in an alcove where two more bandits stood muttering to each other about the latest shipment coming in at sunrise.

She really did move like a ghost; invisible, silent, she blended with the shadows as if she were a part of them. She was an example of perfect stealth and Brynjolf realized it was the first time he'd ever really seen her in action up close. He didn't know if it was the Skeleton Key's power, or if she was just that good, but when she led them through the exit he thought for sure the three men inside the cavern were going to hear her activate the gate.

They never noticed.

Outside the cave she breathed audibly for the first time, releasing a sigh that spoke volumes of the amount of concentration it must have taken for her to pull it off. No wonder she was wound so tight all the time. The effort to get through that place undetected had taken everything he had; Ginna did that sort of thing all the time.

"That was amazing, lass," he fell into step beside her. "I don't think I've ever seen someone just disappear like that."

"It's just what I do." Grinning over her shoulder at him, she pointed to a craggy path on their right and started toward it, reaching back to take his hand in hers. "Come on, the Dainty Sload should be that way."

They followed the dark road, clinging to the shadows until the Dainty Sload rose up out the water in the distance like a monstrosity. There was certainly nothing dainty about it, and he found himself wondering just how many men of Captain Volf's had stayed aboard. He hated the notion of having to bloody his blade for Erikur, of all people, but Ginna didn't seem concerned.

"We only take out anyone who tries to get in our way," she whispered, her stare lingering over the ship. "If you'd feel better leaving it to me, I'll totally understand."

He couldn't just let her walk in there by herself. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to her and he wasn't there to protect her.

"I don't feel better just letting you do this alone," he asserted. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

They snuck past the crew outside easily enough, but there were Corsairs waiting just inside who jumped up from their game of dice and drew blades to attack. Brynjolf charged into action in front of Ginna, swiftly running his shortsword into the first one's belly and wrenching it out as the man fell slumped over his arm and then dropped the floor. Ginna spun into a double-bladed attack that staggered the other man just enough to allow her to scissor her dagger and Nightingale blade across his throat. He dropped his shield and lifted a surprised hand to the wound, gurgling surprise and horror before falling backward into the chair and twitching as he bled out.

Exchanging nods in silent appreciation of each other's skill, they crouched down into sneak mode and headed down the stairs into the bunkhouse of the ship. There were voices on their immediate left, three more mercenaries in a side room who couldn't wait to get back out to sea. Slipping past them unnoticed, they turned left at the end of the hallway and headed straight for the door. The voices faded, but a new rambling dialogue picked it up, an orc threatening to kill the captain if he ever talked to him like that, to cut his throat in his sleep.

Again, the slipped by undetected and headed cautiously down the stairs leading into the hold. There was only one man in the container, pacing back and forth muttering to himself about keeping a knife in his boot. As they glided silently through the shadows and up the opposite stairs, he thought for sure they were caught when the man said, "Huh?" and began to search behind him.

Ginna found Captain Volf's footlocker and jammed the Skeleton Key into the lock, deftly freeing the springs from within and popping it open, but not without alerting the Orsimer First Mate sitting at the table enjoying his dinner.

"Finish the job," Brynjolf told her. "I've got this."

He rolled into action, arriving at the feet of the giant Orc dressed in fine clothes and reaching for the mace on the table to protect himself. He lifted it to block Brynjolf's attack, but he slipped his dagger up under his foe's arm and slid it into the warm, soft part of his stomach. The First Mate drew back in surprise, gasping as he looked down at the wound leaking his lifeblood down the front of his pants. That moment of dismay gave him the perfect opportunity he needed to jam his shortsword through the bottom of his jaw and up into his skull. As he tugged it out, the Orc's large body puddled on the floor and Ginna appeared over his shoulder.

"It's done," she told him, stepping past him to survey the table. He saw what caught her eye and tilted his head as he watched her lift the small golden case into her palm to inspect the brilliant pink jewel nestled within a bed of grey velvet.

"What have ya got there, lass?"

"I don't know," she shook her head. "But it's beautiful, isn't it? I bet it's worth a fortune."

"Aye," he agreed. "We'll take it back to Delvin, see if he might be able to identify it."

"Good thinking," she tucked it into her pocket and zipped it closed before turning back to face him. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Is someone there?" the Corsair in the hold must have heard their voices and he started up the stairs to investigate. He saw the body of the First Mate slumped on the floor between them and flared into action with a heavy battle axe.

The sound of battle roused the rest of the crew and together the two thieves fought their way through the Dainty Sload, taking out everyone they came in contact with until they reached the doors and fled into the night, running along the path until their lungs were filled with the fire of their breath and they were sure they were no longer being followed.

"Shor's balls," Brynjolf cursed, and then eased into excitement-fueled laughter. It'd been a long time since he'd been on so dangerous a job, ages since he'd felt the adrenaline of a quick escape coursing through his veins. It aroused him in ways he'd forgotten it could do and when Ginna threw her arms around his neck to kiss him, he felt his hunger for her stir.

"That was close." She was laughing too, a musical, wonderful sound that made all of his fears abate for the moment. "This is the life, Bryn," she breathed against his lips and when he lowered his arms over her back to hike her up against him, she jumped into him and wrapped her legs around his hips. "_This_ is _our_ life."

"Aye." He drank deep from her kiss, one hand tightening in the thick of her hair, the other holding her body close to his. "Our life, my girl."


	12. Chapter 12

It was just after dawn when the two of them passed through the gates into Solitude, the groggy city barely stirring from slumber. She was completely exhausted, but proud of the job they'd done; she only hoped the man they'd done it for held up his end of the bargain. As much as she hated how much the Guild was depending on that job to see their influence spread, she also knew the only way they could do that was through the help of men like Erikur.

The merchants in the circle were just setting up their stalls, but barely noticed as the two of them passed by and headed straight to Erikur's manor house in front of the Blue Palace.

His servant led them into the house and straight to the dining area where he sat sipping tea and reading over a letter. He barely looked up when they entered, but Ginna could tell he was conflicted by his own pleasure over the task they'd so effortlessly pulled off.

Clearing her throat, she crossed her arms confidently and said, "The job is done. The contraband has been planted on the Dainty Sload."

"Yes," he finally looked up, his bloodshot blue eyes narrowing to meet hers. "I know. By now, Captain Volf should be on his way to the prisons."

She refrained from pointing out just how much he seemed to like sending people to prison and asked, "So we can count on you to hold up your end of the bargain."

"Of course," he grumbled. "I am a man of my word, so you can convey my compliments to Delvin on a job well done and assure him that I will do everything in my power to reopen whatever doors he needs here in Solitude."

Ginna nodded, "I will give him the message."

"And here," he pushed an envelope across the table, "this is for the two of you. My way of saying thank you for your efforts."

Brynjolf edged past her and swiped the envelope off the table, stuffing into one of the inner pockets of his armor. "Thank you for trusting the Guild with your business."

"You know, I thought for sure you were going to bend me over on this one to pay me back for reveling in your capture at the Embassy," he started, raising his eyes to Ginna's again, "but you're a real professional. I respect you for that."

There were so many things she could have said to him, sarcastic remarks to let him know she didn't want or need his respect, but instead she only nodded again and said, "Let us know if you need our services again in the future."

"Oh, don't you worry that pretty little head of yours. I will definitely be in touch."

Pushing through the doors and into the crisp morning again, Ginna muttered under her breath, "I wish there was a public bathhouse in Solitude. Every time I'm in that man's presence I feel an overwhelming need to wash the filth of his company from my skin."

"You look tired, love." Brynjolf lowered his arm over her shoulder as they began to walk up the hillside leading toward Castle Dour. They cut left just past the Hall of the Dead and headed toward the merchant circle again.

"Delvin will be pleased at how well that went."

"I'm sure word of our good deeds will reach his ears long before we reach The Rift."

She was beyond tired. Ginna felt completely exhausted, as if she could fall asleep leaning against him as they walked and not wake up again until many hours after he'd been forced to carry her up the stairs and into their room in the Winking Skeever to lay her to rest. All the adrenaline of a plot well-schemed had worn off on the walk back to the city, and now all she cared about was filling her empty belly and crawling into bed with her husband.

They had to check into the Lighthouse business before they left Solitude, see if they could track down Brutus. She still couldn't believe he'd already come to Skyrim, that as she walked he could be perched in one of the towers looking down on her with scorn as he plotted all the ways he'd like to kill her. Lifting her gaze to the buildings above her, she saw nothing suspicious, but that didn't mean he wasn't there.

Filling their bellies with warm bowls of porridge with boiled fruit and honey, she kept catching Brynjolf's eye across the table. They'd completely worn each other out after escaping the Dainty Sload, but she could tell by the playfulness in his grin when he smiled at her she need only say the word and he'd be ready to take her on again.

Last night had been incredible and they both knew it. Their first _real_ job together, if she didn't count their little heist in Markarth right after they'd met. It showed them what they were capable of together, that much as he'd surmised upon their meeting putting their heads and efforts together would make them richer than either of them ever dreamed. She supposed Nocturnal's influence didn't hurt matters either, but something about that success confirmed what they both wanted to believe in: their partnership went well beyond the carnal pleasures. They were an unstoppable force on every level imaginable.

By the time Brynjolf closed the door to their room behind him Ginna was already flopped down and sprawled out onto the bed. She stretched her legs as she kicked off her boots and wiggled out of her soft leather pants. She stripped out of her armor and wiggled under the blankets as she rolled onto her side to curl into herself with a contented sigh. She heard him chuckle as he sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his own boots before drawing in to spoon his body close to hers. His large hand rested atop hers on her agitated belly, and for a long time after she closed her eyes she listened to the sound of his breath, reveled in the soft exhale of it through her hair and took comfort in the warm protection of his hand over hers.

When she woke around noon the room was empty, Brynjolf's clothes and boots were gone but he left a brief note on the bedside table to let her know he went to dig up more information about Jaree-Ra and the grotto he and his men hung out in.

He hadn't been sleeping well lately and at first she'd blamed herself, a part of her afraid that all the tension between them was driving him away from their bed. But he'd woke her briefly that morning with an almost desperate murmur, his hand clutching hers so tight it actually hurt. She'd rolled over into him and taken him in her arms, soothing whatever bad dream away with the gentle stroke of her fingers through his hair, but she suspected it wasn't long after she'd fallen asleep again that he left.

It seemed an hour or two of sleep was all he could suffer.

She wished he would just talk to her about it instead of catering to whatever manly Nord front he thought he had to put up for her to keep her from thinking he was some kind of milk-drinker.

Dropping the note onto the table, Ginna rolled to her back and stared up at the ceiling above her. She was hungry again. No, hungry wasn't quite the right word. She felt ravenous. All that travel was really wreaking havoc on her body. She lay there for a few minutes longer listening to her belly growl and gurgle and then she got up to dress.

She was sitting in the Winking Skeever polishing off the most amazing venison chop she'd ever eaten when her husband came strutting through doors all confidence and valor. His face lit up when he saw her awake, and stalking toward the table he swept down to kiss her brow before picking a carrot from her plate and dropping into the seat across from her.

"I come bearing interesting tidings," he announced, crunching into the carrot. "That slimy skeever you call brother left Solitude two days past to head for Dawnstar."

"Dawnstar?" She wrinkled her nose. What was so great about Dawnstar? Hadn't that been where Marcurio was headed when he left Riften?

"It would seem he put quite a hurt on Jaree-Ra's little gang, the Blackblood Mauraders. All of them dead except for the man I ran into this morning on the docks, including Jaree-Ra and his sister."

"Dawnstar?" she repeated. "What the hell is in Dawnstar?"

"A museum apparently. It's just opened up."

"We don't have time to chase him to Dawnstar right now. Even if we did, he'd probably be long gone before we got there." She scowled, lowering her fork to her empty plate. "Corpulus, could I get another venison chop over here?" she called to the proprietor.

Brynjolf leveled a furrowed brow in her direction then added, "I'll have one too."

They waited to further their discussion until Corpulus brought their food and took her empty plate away as he left them alone again.

"So what's so special about this museum that's attracted his attention?" she wondered out loud. "Did you find out anything about it? What kind of artifacts they're housing there?"

"Aye," he nodded, carving into his chop. "It's a collection of Mythic Dawn relics."

"The Mythic Dawn? You mean the Daedric cult?"

"The very same."

"What the Void does he want with a bunch of old Daedric rel—" Ginna stopped talking, but her mind kept rolling over the tangle of thoughts unraveling therein. It made more sense than it should have. Brutus has always been fascinated by the Daedra, the dark offering of power each of them dangled in front of mortals like sweet rolls on a string. "Oh my gods. That sneaky little bastard is gathering Daedric artifacts thinking they'll help him get to the Evergloam somehow."

Brynjolf leaned back to look at her, his brilliant green eyes widening with disbelief. "Could he actually pull something like that off?"

"I don't know." She shook her head and reached for her fork again. "He was always shifty, always played to the darker side of illusion magic to aid him in his nightly tasks. When we were younger he'd spend hours of his free time in the library at House Dareloth reading about Oblivion, all the Daedric Princes. Maybe he's going to try to get into Nocturnal's Realm through some backdoor…"

"Or with the aid of another Daedric Prince," he mused, a hand lifting to stroke through the bristling red hairs of his goatee. "I don't like the sounds of this, Ginna. Appeasing Nocturnal out of contractual obligation is one thing, but toying with the Daedra…"

He didn't need to finish that sentence for her to understand where he was heading with it, or to find herself in wholehearted agreement. "I think I'm starting to understand why Nocturnal wants us on top of this. If he starts gathering Daedric forces against her, my Gods, Bryn, he could start another Oblivion Crisis. Why on Nirn would he do something so stupid just to get his hands on Nocturnal's Cowl?"

"Maybe it's not just the Cowl he's after."

"He always was a power hungry little prick," she grumbled. "We need to talk with Karliah about this."

"Aye," he agreed, an unspoken reluctance in his voice that Ginna passed off as hesitation to get anyone else in the Guild involved. "We should head for home as soon as you're finished eating poor Corpulus out of house and home." He watched her dig back into her food with unveiled amusement, but steered his final thoughts back to the matter at hand. "Blast, Gin. If you're right about this we're going to need all the help we can get. I don't want the Guild involved in this mess, but…"

"We won't involve the Guild," she shook her head. The last thing she wanted was for anyone else she cared about to get killed because of her idiot Guildbrother. "I should just take care of this alone. It's my problem anyway. Nocturnal came to me."

"No," he spoke up quickly and just loud enough to garner the attention of the man at the table on the other side of the room. He waited until he returned to his lunch and then said, "This is a Nightingale problem," he said, reaching across the table to lay his hand over hers. "That makes it ours. Yours, mine and Karliah's. There's no way in the world I'm letting you take this on by yourself."

He lifted a hand to her cheek and just rested it there, his emerald eyes searching her face to make sure she understood how solid that promise was. Ginna brought her free hand up over his and curled her fingers around his wrist to hold him there. She turned her lips into his palm and kissed the warm skin.

"My partner," she murmured.

"That's right." He leaned across the space between them and rested his forehead to hers. "Partners, lass, in this life and the next."


End file.
